


Paradoxical Parallels

by History_On_Repeat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1 completed, But he's not that interested, Clueless Dumbledore, Dark Harry, Foster Care, Harry's practically a budding dark lord, OOC characters, Pureblood Culture, Slow Build, Slytherin Harry, Slytherins Being Slytherins, charismatic harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-06-29 02:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 64,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/History_On_Repeat/pseuds/History_On_Repeat
Summary: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, suffered a remarkably similar past to the child Tom Riddle when he was put into the foster care system as an infant. He grew up equally charismatic, just as cunning, and with the same love for the chaotic.But, with no amorentia flowing through his veins, Harry did not share the same struggles to understand or to feign human emotions.Perhaps it was because of this, Dumbledore would muse many years into the future, that he had never suspected Harry as he had done with young Tom. At least, not until it was far too late.Harry's chosen allegiances were ones that they would never see coming.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore meets Harry at the adoption clinic and is pleasantly surprised by what he finds. He leaves relieved and believing that all is well.
> 
> That would be his first mistake.

When Albus Dumbledore first stepped past the thresholds of the London Foster Care and Adoption Clinic, needless to say, he was rightfully apprehensive. But his worries eased once he was met with the smiling face of the branch manager, Mea Rookland, and he was only further assured when they delved into the subject of one Harry James Potter.

“Harry? Oh, he’s such a dear,” Mea, as she had told him to address her, smiled fondly. “The children all love him; he’s got that aura to him that just makes him likeable, you know? The families that he had lived with also adore him. It’s a pity, really, that the ones that do take him are always only looking for short-term adoptions.”

Dumbledore let out a silent exhale of relief. 

Placing Harry with the Dursleys had been a terrible mistake. That had been all too clear when Harry’s Hogwarts letter showed, not the address he had been dropped off at as an infant, but the one of the nearest muggle adoption centre.

“Does he have any close friends?” Dumbledore asked, pleased that Harry’s childhood didn’t seem to be too unpleasant.

“Well…” Mea faltered, and Dumbledore’s heart sank. “It’s not that he doesn’t have friends…rather, he gets on with everyone. But I wouldn’t say that he’s particularly _close_ with any of the other children. He drifts from crowd to crowd, and they’re all more than happy to have him. But there’s always been this distance between him and the others.” At this point, she let out a sigh. “Perhaps he just hasn’t found anyone he’s clicked with yet.”

Dumbledore nodded along. It wasn’t strange for magical children raised in the muggle world to struggle with forming deep friendships. In fact, Harry’s apparent popularity was already beyond his expectations. Though, remembering young James and Sirius, who had practically been the crowned kings of Gryffindor, he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“What’s he like? Harry, of course,” Dumbledore continued his questioning, now more to sate his curiosity than to quell his anxiety.

“Harry, he’s…” Mea hummed as they passed the dining room of the adoption centre. A bark of laughter drew their attention. Mea’s smile widened as she took in the scene before them. “Well, why don’t you see for yourself?”

And Dumbledore did.

The first thing that caught his eyes was a mop of windswept black hair that was nearly identical to James Potter’s and a pair of shockingly green eyes dancing with mirth.

Harry stood near the centre of the room, laughing unrestrainedly at something that another boy said. The other children almost seemed to gravitate towards him, pulled in by the crisp ring of his voice and the half-hidden sharpness of his dimpled smile. 

Yet at that moment, Dumbledore understood what Mea had meant when she said that Harry had no close friends. 

In fact, the other children all subconsciously kept at an arm’s length away from him unless he instigated contact. While some looked at him with open admiration, amusement, and others with even hints of exasperation or envy, there was no warm understanding or familiarity in any of their gazes. Harry stood in the midst of the crowd at the centre of attention, but at the same time, he was utterly alone.

A part of Dumbledore’s mind may have drawn the connections between that scene and ones he had seen in the Great Hall during Tom Riddle’s later Hogwarts years. The children regarded Harry with the same adoration. Their eyes shone with a desperation for his attention and a fierce dependence that would have chilled Dumbledore to the core if it been another dark-haired and sharp-eyed boy who stood in Harry's place. But the thought was banished to the dark recess of his mind as soon as it had come. 

Despite everything, at that moment, Harry was just so completely and utterly _James_ that Dumbledore simply could not believe him to be anything more than an outgoing and well-liked child. He convinced himself that it was simply a matter of Harry being inherently different from everyone else. It was nothing to concern himself over. Harry will find his true friends at Hogwarts.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Mea murmured from where she stood beside him. “He’s going to be great someday. He didn’t always use to be like this.”

Dumbledore tore his eyes away from the now widely gesturing boy and met the woman’s eyes. “Oh?”

“Yes. When he was just starting out, learning to walk and talk and the such, he was a quiet and observant boy. I would have almost called him shy,” Mea’s eyes softened as if recalling some distant past. “He always isolated himself during playtime; he didn’t seem to get along well with the others.”

Dumbledore glanced back at Harry, who had already drifted to another cliche, his laugh carrying easily across the stretch of the room. It was hard to imagine him as the child that the Foster Care branch manager was currently describing.

“At some point, a few of my volunteers had been concerned that Harry was being bullied,” Mea admitted soft, causing Dumbledore to start.

That boy and the Harry before him seemed like two entirely different entities, two directing opposing personas. Was it possible for a child to change so completely? Or perhaps Harry was just a slow starter?

“In fact,” Mea mused quietly, tapping her chin. “During that period, there was one family that took him in and brought him back, two months earlier than they were supposed to, and no matter what we said they wouldn’t budge. They just simply didn’t seem to like him for some reason. I would almost say that they were scared, but that’s ridiculous. Harry was _four_.”

Scared? Dumbledore frowned worriedly. Of course, there were more than enough cases of muggleborns being feared by even their own families because of their accidental magic. Had it been the same case with Harry? 

“But from there on, Harry changed. He became more social. He smiled more. The other children gradually flocked to him, drawn to his presence, and it’s been that way ever since,” Mea finished her narrative, leading Dumbledore into the room.

“Ah,” the Headmaster nodded. “Pardon me for seeming insensitive-it is merely out of curiosity-but may I ask why Harry was never adopted, then, if he is so well loved?”

Mea smiled wryly. “Sometimes we wonder the same thing. As I’ve said before, most families that take him are only looking for something short term. The ones who weren’t always returned him with some excuse, even though they liked him well enough, with the exception of one. I’ve had some families claim that they were worried they weren’t well off enough to provide Harry with the opportunities he deserves, as he is such a bright child. Others have said that Harry would be much happier in London, or that they felt unprepared as first-time parents to handle such a gifted boy. They all appeared sincere enough, as well.”

Dumbledore was silent for a moment before he sighed. “It’s a shame that Harry was never able to find a family of his own.”

“Indeed,” Mea agreed. They were standing close to where Harry was now, with the boy leaning against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets as he nodded and grinned along to something a young girl was saying. “But fortunately Harry seemed to have no qualms about staying here while the others around him came and went. I’m hoping that boarding school you spoke to me about would do him some good. Scotland, was it?”

Dumbledore hummed.

“Maybe it will be easier for him to connect with other gifted children,” Mea let out a sudden chuckle, shaking her head. “I have had adult volunteers tell me that Harry has moments where he even makes _them_ feel stupid. He really is a unique child.”

Dumbledore refrained from voicing the ‘ _more than you’ll ever know_ ’ that was on the tip of his tongue. He had come expecting the Boy-Who-Lived, and he was _still_ surprised how Harry had turned out. Unique seemed almost an understatement.

“Then everything is prepared? A professor will come to take him to pick up his school supplies, then again accompany him to the station on September the first?” Mea confirmed, checking the notes she had made in a small planner. “If it’s all settled, then you may speak to him in private and let him know. I’m afraid you’ll have to keep it within thirty minutes, though. The centre has a rather strict visiting policy for non-adopters.”

“Yes, I understand,” Dumbledore assented. “That’s fine.”

Everything was fine. The Boy-Who-Lived was alive, living a relatively happy life surrounded by friends. The worst hadn’t come to pass as Dumbledore had feared.

As he mentally prepared his speech for when he was introduced to the young Harry James Potter, Dumbledore let out a relieved breath, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders.

There was no harm done, and as it turned out, he had worried over nothing.

Everything was going to be alright.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After the door swung closed on Headmaster Albus Dumbledore’s retreating back, a thick silence permeated the air.

Harry Potter stared down at the letter of enrolment to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry held in his hands, eyes scanning hungrily over the text once more as if hoping to imprint every word into his memory. He was nearly caressing the letter, his expression was stiff, facial muscles frozen through pure disbelief.

Finally, with a nimble twist of the fingers, he folded the parchment-actual _parchment_ , not paper-in half and slid it into the inner pockets of his jacket. 

The polite and interested smile he wore during the older wizard’s visit fell away like a cracked mask, leaving behind a vicious grin that was all teeth. There was a wildness to the sharp glint of his eyes, so piercing a green that it left the painted warm yellow of the walls dull in comparison.

He was a _wizard_.

Of course, he had known since long ago that he could do things others couldn’t. But _a wizard_!? Harry couldn’t suppress the sharp laugh that bubbled forth between parted lips. It soon devolved into a near cackle. He had _magic_ , and soon, he was going to learn how to use it, _properly_.

Harry _knew_ that there was more to it than simply making things float or convincing others into agreeing to requests they otherwise might not have.

After nearly a decade, now he finally  _knew_. He knew who he really was, and what it was that he could do.

A faint tremor ran through his tensed shoulders as the words his future Headmaster had told him finally begun to sink in.

It was the first time he had felt so strongly in many years. His emotions, a complicated mix of exhilaration, irritation, and incredulity that threatened to burst forth and swallow him whole-

“Harry?” A knock sounded at the door before it opened.

Harry plastered his signature grin onto his face, eyes widening slightly. It was a small act and one that required little effort on his part, but as Harry had discovered several years ago, it was also one that easily drew in and captured the attention of the other party. “Yes, Mrs. Rookland?” He asked.

The woman's smile grew when their eyes met.

“Did Headmaster Dumbledore already take his leave? How are you feeling about the news?” She asked.

“He left just a moment ago,” Harry replied, standing from his seat and lazily stretching out his limbs. “I’m quite excited. Of course, I’ll miss everyone here, but I’ll be back during the summers. It’ll be strange not having my friends with me, but I think with some practice, I’ll manage.”

The lie slipped through his lip smoothly, a perfect mix of embarrassment and feigned nonchalance. Harry could see the effect of his words taking hold as Mrs. Rookland’s eyes softened. 

While his excitement was entirely sincere, Harry held no issues over leaving behind the crowds of naive, simpering children who were always seeking to please him. In all honesty, he never really minded them. They were simply just there, a constant presence throughout his years at the Adoption Clinic. He acted the same towards everyone, be they children or adults, and within days they would always be eating out of the palm of his hands.

Besides, it wasn't as much  _an act_ as it was an exaggerated,  _filtered_  version of _him_. Harry had always lived with a sort of freedom that stemmed from an utter indifference to the opinions of others.

He had been called reckless, unrestrained, unfettered-

And perhaps he was, but just not for the reasons they believed.

He had always been too dissimilar to the other orphans in foster care. The volunteers looked at him differently, as did the visitors who were looking to adopt.

The children were worse.

They caught quickly onto the fact that he was given  _special treatment_ , so to say, and they took it out on him, although it was just as beyond his control as it was theirs. He hated the adults for isolating him so completely from the rest, and he hated the children more for treating him as such when he had always kept to himself.

At first, he had felt the weight of their judgement; he wanted to fit in, to be treated the same as any other child his age.

But as he discovered more and more of the things he could do that  _others couldn't_ , more and more of the things that he could see and  _others can't_ , he realized that the other children and he have never been the same.

From then on it was as if he was looking into the world around him through a glass pane. His hatred for everyone else morphed into disregard, which then dwindled to a dull insouciance. At one point, the same nonchalance leaked into his actions as well.

So he simply did what he wanted, voiced whatever was on his mind-and that was apparently enough. Others began to look at him differently. They began to orbit towards him, and as long as they didn't cross a line, Harry let them be. Naturally, there were always the few that did, the few that pushed too hard or were too open with their hostility. They got to experience Harry's rare but sharp anger, and they never made the same mistake twice. As for everyone else, they no longer dwelled on how the unexplainable always seemed to occur around Harry and only Harry. Instead, they focused on his loud laughs, his easy grace, and his quick smiles. 

But Harry understood that what they truly envied was his  _freedom_. 

_People_ , Harry thought decidedly. _Were easy._

And they were. They were easy to understand, easy to trust others, and easy to influence. Harry, naturally, didn’t include himself in that generalization. He was different from them. He wasn’t born to be a follower. But he wouldn’t be a leader, either. He was an external factor, a lone element isolated from the general equation of everyone else.

But Dumbledore had obviously expected him to lead, eventually. Of what, exactly, Harry wasn’t quite sure yet. 

He wasn’t sorry to know that the old wizard will one day find himself disappointed.

“And we will miss you, too,” Mrs. Rookland's reply pulled him back from his spiralling thoughts. “Promise to write?”

Harry complied. He wasn’t too concerned over having to keep his promise. After all, there was still another good two month to go before he had to leave for school. He was certain that he’d be able to let slip something about his school not allowing international postage due to expenses or some other nonsense.

“You’ll do well, no matter if it’s here or at a private school abroad. If you have any concerns, let us know, alright?” At Harry’s nod, Mrs. Rookland beamed. “Then, let’s head back to the dining hall,” she continued, gesturing down the corridors. “Lunch is being served an hour early today.”

Just as they arrived at the door leading into the dining room, there was a considerable dip in the noise.

Harry strolled in, allowing himself to be swallowed by the crowd of eager children. He returned the others’ greetings and brief comments, but there was a distant shine to his eyes that had not been present before he had left.

While his body and mouth went through the motions, so familiar he was with them that he could practically do it with his eyes closed, his mind drifted to Hogwarts, and the world that awaited his arrival.

His lip pulled upwards, more of a smirk than a smile. A predatory light flashed through his eyes, unnoticed by the clamouring children that pressed in around him. Soon, he would find others who were like him. There, perhaps he could be just another face in the crowd, no longer constantly drawing jealous or worshiping side glances from everyone that passed by.

After all, while Harry enjoyed his current unreserved freedom, the fact remained that he would have liked nothing better than someone who could understand him and who didn't automatically place him on a pedestal. It would be a welcomed and refreshing change to his established reputation here at the adoption clinic. The thought was enough to elevate his mood for the rest of the day. And it would last until the morning he set foot onto Platform 9 and 3/4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, the Hogwarts Express, and Sorting Ceremony!
> 
> The students and teachers are in for a shock...
> 
> Stay tuned!


	2. First Year Commences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was unlike anything Draco Malfoy had ever expected. He wasn't alone in the sentiment.
> 
> The Hogwarts Express and the Sorting Ceremony are only the beginning...

Platform 9 & 3/4, to Draco Lucius Malfoy's disappointment, fell short of his expectations by far.

The students and the parents were a trying crowd. Draco was nearly run into _twice_ as he sidled his way down the walkway, and he didn’t even want to _begin_ to think about the dirt and road grime that must have splattered onto the hem of his robes from other trunks being dragged too close to his person.

Fortunately, he had managed to make his way onto the train quickly enough to secure himself a compartment near the back. Now, he could read while sitting in wait for his friends, comfortable and in silence.

The others came quickly enough, knowing him well enough to find his chosen compartment within moments of boarding. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were the first to slip past the doors, speaking in hushed whispers.

That was unusual. The two were the more private ones in his group. Even in lowered volume, it was peculiar to see them willing converse in the crowded halls of the train.

“Zabini. Nott,” Draco waved them in, raising a perfect brow and glancing at the two expectantly.

Blaise was a tall and spindly boy with olive skin, high cheekbones, and shrewd eyes. He looked every part the pureblood heir, from his slightly raised chin down to the fine seams of his ironed trousers. 

Theodore had a weaker presence in comparison, with his combed dark hair partially obscuring a pale, relatively unremarkable face. But his eyes held a certain intelligence and awareness that showed him to be anything _but_ unremarkable. 

“Malfoy,” Blaise greeted as he gracefully fell into the seat across from him. Nott gave a nod in acknowledgment. But neither seemed inclined to further their discussion.

Draco huffed, but let them be. It probably wasn’t important, anyhow.

Daphne Greengrass came next, dark luscious curls framing her heart-shaped face. Ever the Pureblood Heiress, she carried herself with an easy grace. But despite her relaxed strides, Draco still caught the glint of eagerness in her eyes, as if she knew _something_ that the rest of them didn’t.  

Draco felt a tug of irritation.

How annoying. First Blaise and Theodore, and now Daphne, too, was acting strange. Draco never did like being kept in the dark.

“Well?” He demanded, snapping closed the book in his lap. “What’s got you all so worked up? Anyone care to share?”

Blaise threw him a confused look. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what, exactly?” Draco asked cooling, although his curiosity was internally flaring. Still, it wouldn’t do for someone of his standing to lose his composure over such an insignificant matter. 

“Harry Potter is on the train,” Daphne revealed, lips pulling up into a smile that was all teeth.

Draco stilled for a moment, a twitch of his fingers the only indication of his surprise. Of course, he _had_ heard, but somehow, he had managed to forget this very much _significant_ matter during his hour of last minute packing and subsequently the morning boarding rush.  

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the vanquisher of the Dark Lord, was on the Hogwarts Express, and Draco had _forgotten_.

“Well?” Blaise looked at him with a quirked brow.

“Well, what?” Draco forced himself to relax back into his seat, turning to face the other boy.

“Aren’t you going to go look for him?”

Draco sneered, discarding his half-formed plan to do just that. “Why would I?”

“You’ve been gloating all summer,” Theodore interjected silently. “How the great Harry Potter was in our year-”

“How you were going to sit with him on the train,” Daphne added with a smirk.

Blaise simply smiled, his point proven. Draco stared at his friends, offended. “I do _not_ gloat. And for your information, it’s called _charity_. I heard he was raised by muggles. Distasteful, isn’t it? Naturally, he’d need the _right_ sort of influence.”  

“And that would be a Malfoy, no doubt?” Daphne hid a smile behind her hand.

“Precisely,” Draco replied chillingly, standing up and brushing the dust from his sleeves. 

He ignored the Greengrass heiress’s dig on his family. The Malfoys had always been more outspoken about their Dark alliances than the relatively neutral Greengrass family in the previous war, and knew that they were now shouldering the consequences. Nonetheless, never let it be said that Draco wasn’t proud of his family for standing by their beliefs. 

“Now if you willexcuse me, I have better things to do than subject myself to further insinuations about my House.”

He tuned out Daphne’s doubtlessly snarky reply in favour of shutting the compartment doors behind him and strolled out into the narrow halls. The carpeted floor shook beneath his feet as the train sped onwards, but he wouldn’t be a Malfoy if he couldn’t maintain his elegance as he glided down through the compartment.

Draco quickened his pace. He always got what he wanted, and at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to meet the famed Harry Potter. 

However, before he could get very far, someone rushed out from a side door and quite literally _barrelled_ into him. As he went down, all he saw was a mess of black hair. He was so shocked by the sudden turn of events that he didn’t resist when the other reached forward and swiftly grabbed him by the arm, hauling him ungracefully to his feet.

“Ah, sorry,” the boy smiled crookedly, not looking sorry in the slightest. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright? It looked like you took quite the tumble.” 

Draco had several choice words readied in reply as he looked up, eyes narrowing. He didn’t _tumble_ , and he certainly would have never allowed unknown strangers to touch him so freely. But all protests died in his throat when his eyes met with a sharp, jarring green a shade brighter than even the killing curse. There was also something else about the boy that Draco couldn’t quite put his finger upon. It was maddening, and right on the tip of his tongue, but he momentarily pushed aside the thought.

The other boy was shorter than he, but that somehow didn’t seem to matter in the slightest with the way that he held himself. His smile hid something wild and dangerous, its edge only softened by the sheer brightness of his expression. The boy was a curious mix of contradictions. He had the clearly aristocratic features of some older Pureblood families but also displayed his emotions so openly across his face that Draco would have instantly pegged him for a muggleborn. He had a lax grace that was all too natural and smooth to have belonged to anyone but a Pureblood heir, yet no self-respecting House would have allowed their successor to leave the house dressed so sloppily, with the top two buttons of his shirt undone and his robes hastily thrown across his shoulders.

Draco gave a sudden start when he realized exactly what it was about the other that had initially brought about his scrutiny. 

There was a familiar curve to the sharp lines of his jaw, the arched set of his brows, even the straight and narrow of his nose. His features were refined and the edged corners of his eyes were offset by his tousled hair. Even his _skin_ was a familiar shade of pale.

If Draco didn’t know any better, he would have thought the boy _a Black_. He had all the features for it, save for the messy hair. Thanks to his mother’s birthright, Draco had spent enough time wandering through the Black Manor to familiarize himself with the faces of the various past Lords and Ladies House of Black. And _this boy_ -why, he could’ve fit right in. And in the  _direct line_ , no less. 

Crazily, Draco wondered if any of his cousins from the family had left an illegitimate child somewhere. The only doubt that lingered in his mind was the boy’s hair, because that messy mop of black was pure Pott-

“Harry Potter,” the boy struck out his free hand, his other still on Draco’s arm, steadying him. And thank Merlin for that, since Draco was certain his knees would’ve given out beneath him from pure shock otherwise. 

“And you are…?” Harry’s head tilted, hauntingly green eyes still fixed on him.

 “Draco Malfoy,” Draco replied through instinct honed into him from countless hours spent at tedious dinner parties and meetings with his parents’ associates. “From the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy.” Even bone-deep shock wasn’t able to lessen the smugness with which he presented his family.

Harry raised a brow, though Draco wasn’t sure at what.

But then he suddenly grinned and ignoring Draco’s lack of response, grabbed his hand which had previously hung limply at his side and shook it fiercely. 

“Well, that’s that. I apologize again for my carelessness,” Harry casually shook a loose lock of hair from his eyes and dropped Draco’s hand, turning as if to leave. 

“Wait!” Draco’s mind chose this moment to reboot. “Potter!” 

“Hm?” Harry paused mid-step, regarding him with questioning eyes. The tilt of his head caused his hair to fall to the sides of his face, revealing the jagged lines of a pale scar that ran directly down the center of his forehead. 

 Draco’s gaze was instantly drawn to the decade-old injury, the only relic of that night when the Dark Lord supposedly breathed his last. Harry seemed to notice his attention, for his smile turned wry and something almost akin to _disappointment_ flashed across his eyes.

 “That nonsense again, huh?” Draco thought he heard Harry murmur.

“Excuse me?” His brows furrowed.

“It’s nothing,” Harry gave a dismissive wave. “Ah, if there’s nothing else…”

Before Draco got the chance to get another word in, Harry was gone, sending him a parting flick of the hand as he ducked back into the corridor he had emerged from moments before. Draco stood there, arm stretched out and grasping for empty air.

But Malfoys nothing if not persistent. He gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath and cursed the raven-haired green eyed boy in his head. Then he got over it and swept down the hallway that Harry had just left for. He had sought out the famous Harry Potter for answers and to satisfy his own curiosity. Instead, he had been left with even more questions. 

Harry Potter was a complete mystery.

So he spent the majority of the hours-long train ride seeking out the elusive saviour of Magical Britain. However, it seemed that when he didn’t want to be found, locating Harry was like trying to catch the wind with one’s bare hands.

It was an impossibility.

Half an hour before the train was set to pull in at Hogwarts, Draco returned to his original compartment, thoroughly frustrated and highly irritated. His friends seemed to find the situation amusing enough, though. 

“You mean you lost him?” Daphne didn’t cackle, but it was a near thing. Her eyes danced with gleeful mirth while Draco scowled. 

“Come on, Daph,” Blaise chided, but he couldn’t hold the expression for long and soon his lip quirked up, shoulders shaking slightly with repressed laughter. 

Even Theodore was smiling.

“It’s not funny,” Draco hissed. “My shoulder bloody hurts from when I fell. The upper years are going to know me as that one boy who barged into everyone’s compartment hunting down that cursed _Potter_ , of all people, and _nothing makes sense_.” The others’ expressions faltered, taken aback by Draco’s rare outburst. “It was just so bloody strange- And Merlin be damned if I don’t get _something_ substantial out of him when I catch him, whenever _that_ will be.”

Fatigued by both his hours-long search and his speech-because Malfoys did not _rant_ -Draco slumped down into his seat, which had been left empty for him in his absence. The others could joke around with him all they liked, but they knew his position amongst their group-and even amongst all of the first years-was right up there at the very top, and so they showed it through seemingly small and insignificant actions such as this and never openly challenged him on more delicate matters. 

Daphne _tsk_ ed, swallowing whatever cutting remark she had prepared. Blaise and Theodore exchanged a glance.

“Well, we’ll be seeing him at the Sorting Ceremony,” Theodore brought up. 

Draco’s head lifted, his expression contemplative.

“Not a chance he’ll end up in Slytherin, though,” Blaise commented, and Daphne nodded along. “It’ll be hard to get to him when he’s surrounded by his Gryffindor entourage. I’d say this was the best chance you had. But Slytherin and Gryffindor do share most classes, so there’s _that_.”

Draco sighed again, letting his head fall back against the seat. Blaise was right. Harry James Potter, the masthead of the Light and the Boy-Who-Lived, was going to be stuck straight into Gryffindor the moment the hat touched his head. Draco hadn’t a doubt.

He was partially glad for the thought. He didn't think he could survive seven years being constantly shadowed by the enigma that was Harry Potter.

It was a shame, though. Draco figured he could have made a decent snake if he put his mind to it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Daphne Greengrass had been highly amused, and just a touch worried, over the dramatic display of frustration the Malfoy heir exhibited over his meeting with Harry James Potter. But when they were left outside the Great Halls waiting to enter for the Sorting Ceremony, and Daphne first caught sight of the Boy-Who-Lived, she finally understood Draco’s reaction.

Muggle upbringing or not, the Potter scion was a Pureblood through and through. It almost seemed as if grace and eloquence had been bred in his very bones. Potter was effortlessly elegant in a way that made even Daphne jealous. His wide smile had the same quality of detached superiority that Pureblood heirs such as Draco often showed through their sneers. His gestures as he conversed with some random boy next to him was smooth and sweeping, easily drawing the attention of the nearby students.

Potter was _magnetic_. The students were drawn towards him-their _magics_ were drawn towards him. There was something in the way he grinned, in the way crinkles formed his eyes when he smiled, in the way he threw back his head when he laughed. Daphne had felt a cold dread douse over her when she realized that he affected her just as much.

She had to catch herself from leaning in when he spoke, or following the glide of his hand as he moved. It was captivating, intoxicating, and completely, utterly _terrifying_.

When Professor McGonagall finally returned and went over the behaviour that was expected of them during their years at Hogwarts, Daphne felt distinctly relieved that she had been given something else to focus her mind and attention on. She knew she wasn’t the only one. 

Then they were walking through the Great Hall to the stares of the Upper Years, all focused on one student currently in the midst of the crowd of new students.

Daphne found her eyes helplessly shifting over to catch Potter’s reaction when he first took in the enchanted ceiling and floating candles. She didn’t regret it.

His smile broke into an outright grin of open wonder, his eyes alight with that sharp brightness. His steps never halted, but Daphne could see his pace slow, almost as if he had hoped that time would slow along with him so that he could preserve the magic of the moment just a touch longer.

When they were lined up circling around the tall stool, Daphne found herself at arm’s length from the Boy Who Lived, struggling to avoid staring out from the corner of her eyes. Even when she took note of the careless creases in his robes and his untucked collar with disdain, another part of her also felt refreshed amazement that a fellow successor of an Ancient and Noble Pureblood family could allow themselves to been seen in public in such a state.

“Isn’t this amazing?” It felt like her thoughts had been voiced until she realized it was a boy nearby that had spoken the words. _To Potter_. His words were free of awe or hesitance. It took Daphne only a brief moment to realize that the boy was most likely a muggleborn, and therefore knew not of Potter’s reputation.

She hid a sneer. They never bothered to learn _anything_ before coming to Hogwarts, expecting everyone else to yield to their ignorance. 

However, before Potter could reply, another voice cut in. It was low and unpleasant, and one that Daphne despised almost as much as she did the _mudblood_. It was _Zacharias Smith_ , a snub and a show-off without an ounce of talent to his name. 

“How dare you talk to a Pureblood heir, and no less, _Harry Potter_ -” Daphne grimaced at the sickly sweet emphasis placed on the name. “-without invitation. Don’t you know _who he is_? Do your research before you open your mouth, why don’t you? What an embarrassment.”

Daphne understood that, amongst Pureblood circles, it was tradition for the more powerful individual to initiate conversation. If it was reversed, it could be seen as rude and almost an outright insult. But this wasn’t court, nor was it some high-end society dinner party. 

The boy that had spoken, who was now paling rapidly, was a muggleborn without a drop of Pureblood tradition in his veins. It was natural, _expected_ , even, for him to make such a surface mistake. Smith had been overly harsh in his criticism, and if even _Daphne_ thought so, then he had certainly gone too far.  

The fool was just trying to score a point of favour with Harry. Daphne sneered viciously. Even a blind man could see his insincerity and rotten personality.

“Speaking of research,” Potter’s cheery voice caught her attention, and it was as if all the tension drained from her body at the sound. She could see the other students listening in to the quiet altercation similarly relax. “I was under the impression that I am a half-blood, not a pureblood. Unless somehow the blood purifies overtime? Maybe it’s the magic. How curious.”

Daphne would’ve bet her heirship that Potter  _knew_ that wasn’t how blood purity worked. Still, it was entertaining to watch Smith flounder.

Smith opened his mouth but wasn’t given the chance to rectify his mistakes nor correct Potter’s misconception, if it could even count as one. Meanwhile, the other boy barged on. “And I had no idea beginning a conversation required me to introduce myself first. Thanks for letting me know so early on.” 

Zacharias was only able to answer his smile with stutters, completely horrified and utterly confused. The coward. 

Potter then turned solemnly to the muggleborn boy beside him, who was looking, albeit considerably better, still quite shaken. 

“The name’s Harry Potter, _of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter_ ,” Potter intoned, a sharp and brief flash of amusement passing through his eyes. A mental image of a preening Draco suddenly popped up in Daphne’s mind as she realized why exactly Potter’s tone had sounded so familiar. “Saviour extraordinaire of the world, but really, just Magical Britain, at your service.” 

Harry gave a mock salute, the action more graceful than comedic.

He was faced with a shaky smile.

“M-my name’s Dean Thomas,” the boy, now relived, gave his own name. 

Harry held out a hand with an arrogant confidence that showed that in his mind, rejection was simply an impossibility. He smirked all the while. “Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

Expectedly, the other boy gratefully took the proffered hand after a mere moment of hesitance.

Potter shook enthusiastically.

Daphne had to admit that even _she_ was reluctantly impressed with the lengths Potter was willing to go to comfort a mere muggleborn. But perhaps, he went through with the act more in order to spite the presumptuous Zacharias Smith than to sooth _Thomas_ -the utterly muggle name tasted like ash in her mouth, even when she only repeated it in her mind.

Or, more likely, it was a combination of both. Whichever the case, Potter has won Daphne’s grudging respect. She doubted she would have been able to put aside her personal bias for muggleborns even if it meant having to listen to Smith run his mouth. Peering at Smith’s embarrassed scowl, she felt another jolt of vindictive satisfaction. 

“Greengrass, Daphne.” 

Daphne jolted as she was pulled back by the sound of her name. She blinked. The Sorting Ceremony had been going on all the while, and she hadn’t even realized. 

Judging by the pointed look Blaise directed her way from the other end of the crowd, she knew her inattention hadn't gone unnoticed. 

Pushing down self-directed irk at her own lapse in awareness, Daphne strode forward and sat herself down on the uncomfortable stool. Just before the rim of the hat fell over her eyes, she found herself meeting Potter’s gaze. The dim lighting of the Great Hall accentuated every elegant line and curve of his face, giving off the image of an all-powerful Pureblood heir.

He flashed her an easy smile, a knife sharp glint to the shine of his eyes. 

Daphne suppressed a shudder. _Thank Salazar that the boy’s going to Gryffindor_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Potter, Harry!”

Harry sauntered up to Professor McGonagall, his heavier than usual steps the only sign of his annoyance. It had been an unwelcome surprise when he had discovered his status as the Boy-Who-Lived, symbol of the Light side, and the hero of the wizarding world. He was _famous_ , a hero, of all things.

It was inane, really. And completely ridiculous. 

It seemed that even in the magical world, he was still doomed to be different. These witches and wizards were fundamentally no different than the children and volunteers at the Adoption Clinic. They painted a halo around his head, singing his praises and taking his outward expressiveness for friendliness instead of the apathy that it really was. If anything, they admired him _even more_. All as a result of his supposed act in surviving a lethal curse.  

Harry slumped onto the stool and took in the tensed faces around the Great Hall before his vision was obscured by darkness.

**_Well, well. The famed Harry Potter. How peculiar._ **  

The scratchy, slow drawl of the Sorting Hat’s voice in his mind caused him to stiffen. Harry huffed. _Well, well. A talking hat._ Talk about _the pot calling the kettle black_. He snarked back.

The hat's muted amusement rung in his mind before it turned more thoughtful.

**_I see you’re not that pleased with the turn of events. Hmm…strange. There’s ambition and…such a thirst for power, yes…but no desire for recognition_.**

_What’s the point of having power if there are always people after your head?_ Harry retorted. _Being at the center of attention also means you have less freedom and more restraints. Why would I ever want to give up freedom for something as worthless as fame?_  

**_You’re certainly free with your opinions. Aren’t you afraid I’d repeat some of your words to the others?_ **  

Harry raised a brow. _Right. I’m sure if there wasn’t some sort of privacy or confidentiality spell in place, the students probably wouldn’t so easily allow you into their minds. Never mind them. The Pureblood families would probably raise hell._

There was a moment of silence. Then the hat spoke again, slower this time.

**_Well deduced. That’s the first time someone’s ever put it to me in such blunt terms, but yes. What goes on between us, stays between us. Now…you certainly are clever. Perhaps you’d do well in Ravenclaw…you want knowledge, yes, but only to be prepared…my, do you have some fanciful ideas. Dark thoughts for such a young child…_ **

Harry listened to the Sorting Hat in silence. He had known about the four Houses beforehand, of course. But he didn’t particularly care which one he was sorted into. He’d make do with whichever, and it wasn’t like wearing a different coloured tie could deter him from his goals. 

**_Gryffindor is a definite no. You’ve got bravery in spades, but only if it comes down to your own self-preservation. If it would bring you even an ounce of danger, you wouldn’t raise a finger to help another. Well…I suppose that’s fair…you’ve only got one life after all…_ **

**_The same could be said for Hufflepuff. You have unyielding loyalty for what you believe in, but the children around you will never treat you as an equal. And unless they do, you’ll never see them as a friend. Ah…fame can be annoying, indeed. They won’t be able to earn your loyalty, so might as well save them the trouble…_ **

Harry snorted, remembering the reactions he had first gotten upon the Hogwarts express. Ronald Weasley had been deafeningly loud, exaggerated, and practically _vibrating_ when he had discovered who Harry was. Harry found his reaction thoroughly amusing, and just a tad stifling. When he began to get unbearable, Harry managed to escape, but only to bump into _another_ one.  

Draco Malfoy _of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy_ -Harry’s lip twitched at the memory-had been, if at all possible, even more entertaining than the idolizing and envious Ron. He was a mixture of haughtiness, shocked awe, disbelief, and confusion.

He, too, Harry had managed to leave behind once he lost interest in the blonde. But he was certainly determined enough, more so than the self-conscious Weasley, anyway. Harry found himself playing an amusing game of cat-and-mouse for the following hour before discovering a side door with an expansion charm that led to the luggage storage.

Then, he promptly forgot all about the redhead and the Malfoy heir in favour of taking a nap atop a pile of leather trunks. Only the announcement for the arrival at Hogwarts managed to wake him from his slumber. He barely had enough time to change into his school robes before they were being herded off the train and directed to the banks of the Black Lake.

**_Ravenclaw…_** The Sorting Hat continued musingly, its voice breaking through Harry’s stray thoughts. **_You undeniably have the cleverness for it, but your curiosity lies not in academics. A prodigy when you apply yourself…and_ only _when you apply yourself. Hmm…that’d certainly be problematic._**  

Harry almost felt offended by the words, but they weren't exactly untrue. He knew he had a tendency to be lazy when the subject of his focus didn't truly interest him, or when it wasn't challenging enough.

All the same, he had originally expected Ravenclaw to be where he'd end up, considering Hogwarts taught  _magic_. How could magic possibly bore him?

**_Slytherin, now, that’d be quite fitting. Cunning, ambition, desire for power…you fit the criteria to a T. But you have no interest in ruling. Their political games won’t be compelling enough for you, either, but Rowena knows you’d be good at them…_**

A minute passed by in silence while the hat continued to ruminate. 

**_Naturally, you’ve no desire for prestige or leadership…Only to observe, manipulate, and watch it all play out…what a terrible thought, and with a mind like yours, I’m certain you’ll succeed…hmm, whichever house I place you in, I feel like I’ll owe the students an apology. Ah, at least at Slytherin, you’ll be entertained enough…_ **

Harry wasn't sure what plans the Sorting Hat was referring to. As of now, all he really cared about was furthering his powers and learning how to control his magic. Still, Slytherin didn't sound too bad, going by what it was saying.

**_So, better be…_ **

“SLYTHERIN!” The hat bellowed for the crowd to hear, its rim lifting to Harry’s brows and allowing him visage of the Great Hall. He blinked as the light suddenly assaulted his eyes, but as soon as he adjusted, he took in the near comical sight.

Harry grinned wolfishly as he felt the weight of several hundred shell-shocked eyes on him, from both the students and professors alike.

The night was off to a _great_ start.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“SLYTHERIN!”

_Bloody hell._

A moment of stunned silence smothered the crowd of students and professors. A part of Draco’s mind absently wondered if the Great Hall had _ever_ been this silent during dinner since its creation. A pin could drop across the vast expanse of the chamber and the sound could still be heard crisp and clear. But mainly he just gaped. Along with everyone else, of course.  

He snuck a glance at his godfather. Severus Snape looked as if he was about to be sick. Professor Sprout, who was seated next to him, looked close to breaking out in tears, and not of the good kind. Even Dumbledore was affected, the perpetual dazed smile gone from his face. But at the moment, Draco couldn’t even bring himself to properly appreciate the twisted conflict clearly written across the older wizard’s face.  

He watched unblinkingly as Harry Potter swept the sorting hat off his head and fluidly draped it over Professor McGonagall's frozen, outstretched hand, gave a exaggerated bow at the deathly silent crowd and seemingly breaking the spell when the action incited a few huffs of laughter, and made his way over towards the Slytherin table.

Not the Gryffindor one.

_Good Merlin._

His black tie flickered under the candle light and turned into a crisp green and silver.

Not a warm red and gold.

Draco swallowed when Potter’s eyes met his, _Avada Kedevra_ green lighting up ominously.

_Merciful Salazar._

All Draco could think at the moment was-

_My father will_ definitely _hear about this_.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the second chapter finished! :D
> 
> Harry's now in Slytherin, and of course, not many people are thrilled about that...
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Someone thought to teach Harry his place in the house of snakes. The results, naturally, aren't at all pretty.


	3. Provocations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry encounters some trouble on his first day in Slytherin. Apparently, most of the predominantly Dark house wasn't glad to have the Boy-Who-Lived in their midst.
> 
> Harry will show them that he is far from the naive, soft-hearted boy they all expected him to be. 
> 
> Blood will be spilled and a new hierarchy will establish itself...

After Dumbledore’s welcoming speech and warning of the lethally dangerous third floor corridor-and what was _that_ all about-the rest of dinner was a relatively uneventful affair.

There were always the few stares boring a hole into the back of his head, but Harry ignored them and instead focused his attention wholly on the feast before him. The widespread of pastries, meats, stews, roasts, and cakes were almost enough to make him drool. He was sure that he had never eaten so well in the entirety of his life, and unless every meal at Hogwarts was just as extravagant, he doubted he ever will in the next decade.

The only undesired interruption to his meal occurred early on. He had barely picked up his fork before a yell caught his attention.

“Hey, Potter!”

Harry turned to the source of the voice, quirking a brow questioningly. It came from further up the table, where the older students sat.

Every person he had met in his life always saw him in one of two ways: either as someone beneath them that was to be pitied or disdained, or as a prodigious child with both brains and charm and so admired him as if he was some porcelain doll. It seemed that the speaker this time belonged to the former category.

An upper year-third year, perhaps, since he didn’t look much taller than Harry-smirked back at him. ‘Pureblood’ was practically scrawled across his face. He had combed back black hair, dark eyes set in sunken sockets, high cheekbones framing a straight, aquiline nose, and thin dark brows that accentuated the powdery paleness of his skin. Overall he was rather handsome, but at the moment, his features were set into an unfriendly sneer.

“Who’s asking?” Harry threw back nonchalantly. He was already too used to that type of attitude to take any offense. As long as the boy didn’t go overboard or publicly challenge him, Harry would just let him be.

The maybe-third-year seemed taken aback. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting Harry to answer, and so detachedly, as well. 

“Alois Rosier,” he flashed a row of white teeth. “But _naturally_ you didn’t know that.” 

Harry knew the Rosiers were part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but he hadn’t bothered to research each family specifically. Knowing the boy was probably looking to taunt him for his unfamiliarity with Pureblood lineages or some other nonsense, Harry smiled distantly in return.

“I’m sorry, was I supposed to know you?” Harry asked, every word dripping with polite sincerity. “Have we met before? If we did, I apologize.”

For a moment the boy seemed confused. 

“So many people have been coming up to me and introducing themselves today that the names and faces are beginning to mix. I’ll try to remember you next time, Rosier. Or would you prefer Alois?” Harry smiled sweetly, before graciously offering: “You can call me Harry, if you’d like.”

The confusion soon bled away to a simmering anger.

Rosier’s eye twitched violently. Two seats away, Harry heard Malfoy snort into his goblet and then proceed to choke on pumpkin juice.

“Rosier is fine, _Potter_ ,” Rosier ground out, sneer stiffening. Harry had evidently caught him off guard, but he drove on. “Today must have been awful for you,” he said with mock sympathy. “First day at Hogwarts and sorted into _Slytherin_. Must think you’re too good to be a snake, no?”

By then their exchange had already caught more than several pairs of eyes. Most were from the Slytherin table, but Harry wouldn’t be surprised if students from the nearby Ravenclaw student were listening in. Rosier _was_ getting quite loud, after all. 

“Actually,” Harry replied delicately, chewing on a morsel of meat. “I’m quite content with Slytherin. The students have been nice enough so far, and I’m a fan of green and silver.” He flashed a wide, humourless grin and took satisfaction in the way that the other party tensed. “But if you’re having a hard time here, I’m sure Headmaster Dumbledore could be convinced to allow you a resorting, and since you’re such a swell guy, Hufflepuff will probably be glad to take you.”

While Rosier sputtered, Harry turned back to his food, savouring the heavenly taste. He briefly wondered if he could self-learn the stasis charm and take some food for over the summer holidays. It would be difficult to return to the bland porridge and salads that the clinic served after _this_.

Several seats over he could hear the muffled sounds of an argument.

“-got your ass handed to you-”

“Shut it. I swear I’ll kill that filthy-”

“-learn some discretion, Rosier, for the love of Morgana!”

“-not like anyone here would care about _Potter_ -”

A droning voice suddenly cut off the escalating squabble.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the bloody Great Hall and _because_ it’s Potter, others were _already_ staring when you started this puerile spectacle! If you have any personal vendetta against the boy, wait until we’re safe from prying eyes.”

Harry’s eyes flickered upwards momentarily. The last speaker was a tall girl, and it appeared that she had strolled over from further down the table. 

“You’re a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake, so _do_ act like one. Otherwise, I’d echo his suggestions for you to get yourself resorted,” she finished and gave them a narrow-eyed glare.

The candlelight caught the green _Prefect_ badge on her shirt and glinted smugly before she turned on her heels and left for her emptied seat further up the table.

Harry pushed the matter out of his mind. If Rosier knew what was good for him, that would only a one-time occurrence.

Taking a gulp from his goblet, Harry met the eyes of a dark-haired girl that sat across from him and several seats away. He waited for her to break the stare, but instead, after a short moment, she spoke.

“That was brilliantly handled,” the girl gave Harry a nod.

He recognized her as the girl who had stood near him during the Sorting Ceremony. Her flawless poise and slightly tilted chin revealed her to be, if not a Pureblood, then at least a half-blood from a well-off and traditionalistic family. Then again, Harry supposed that one would be hard pressed to find anyone with a blood status _below_ half in Slytherin House.

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry introduced himself, reaching across the table and offering the girl his hand. He smiled, much more friendly than he had with Rosier.

The girl gave an irritated huff, but took his hand nonetheless, albeit reluctantly. “I am Daphne Greengrass. I’ve heard about you.”

“What a surprise,” Harry deadpanned, grinning at her unimpressed scoff.

“I _meant_ ,” she intoned with exasperation. “That Draco’s told us about your run-in. You’ve made quite an impression on him, apparently.”

Harry turned to the blonde. _Draco Malfoy_. “Thanks?” 

The boy muttered something along the lines of “didn’t say anything about it being a _positive_ one”.

“Well, you’ve made an impression on me, too,” Harry assuaged, the corner of his lips pulling upwards sharply. “You’re a funny guy. I think I like you.”

The olive-skinned boy sitting beside Harry sniggered. Malfoy sent a scowl in his general direction, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was meant for him or the boy trembling with mirth.

What followed was a round of introductions, some much more enthusiastically than others. Harry found himself shaking the hands of Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle. While Harry found Blaise’s dry humour refreshing amusing and Nott’s contemplative silence refreshing, he couldn’t find it in himself to give the same praise to Parkinson, and the sentiment was returned. She seemed to find his mere existence offensive on a personal level, so Harry didn’t push for anything beyond a quick introduction. As for Crabbe and Goyle, they didn’t seem to have the brains to even think for themselves, never mind _discuss_ with others, so Harry paid them no mind, either.

Harry originally planned to keep to himself throughout dinner, but the blonde heir seemed to have a strange fixation on him and kept directing questions towards him.

Malfoy, Harry had realized with glee minutes into their acquaintanceship, was by far the most innocent boy he had ever met. It was probably the result of being spoiled for over a good decade. Underneath his haughty attitude, arrogant words and condescending sneers was a boy so naive that sarcasm and personal jabs flew right over his head. 

It was strange, though, considering that he was like a bloodhound whenever even the slightest insult was cast towards his family.

There were also moments where he would say something so utterly tactless that even the other Pureblood heirs around him would appear visibly uncomfortable, and upon trying to backtrack, he would inevitably make it worse.

Such as…

“How can you _not_ know about Quidditch?” Malfoy gestured, nearly spilling his drink. “You sure you’re not a mudblood, Potter?”

“ _Draco_!” Daphne hissed.

Upon realizing what he said, Draco flushed, but continued on, addressing Daphne this time. “What? How can he not know about Quidditch? Did his parents not teach him?”

A beat of silence. Draco rapidly paled.

Or…

“What do you mean you’re _fine_ with muggleborns? They waltz in here flaunting their ignorance, it’s _disgusting_. I say, if they have no upbringing and no tradition, they should just go back to where they’re from.”

Theodore coughed.

“I’m raised in the muggle world,” Harry contributed cheerfully. “My mother was a muggleborn. I heard she was brilliant.”

“Yes- _Well_ -” Draco sputtered, eyes darting pleadingly to his friends. “It’s not like what I said isn’t true, though. You know practically nothing about Pureblood etiquette. And- Ow!” There was a sudden shuffling under the table. He glared across the table at Blaise, looking betrayed. Blaise pointedly tilted his head. Upon seeing Harry, and remembering what he had said and was about to say, Draco clammed up, mortified.

At one point it all became too much and Harry burst out laughing. He was shaking so hard that he nearly face planted into his plate of gravy covered sausages, and he was certain he even had a few genuine tears of mirth in the corner of his eyes.

When he sat up again, still slightly delirious and grinning like a madman, he caught sight of Blaise and Theodore’s blank gaze, Daphne’s unimpressed one, and Malfoy, looking downright terrified and just a little confused. Harry supposed he must have looked somewhat unhinged.

“ _You_ are _hilarious_ ,” he told Draco anyways, grinning voraciously while the colour drained from the other boy’s face.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed again.

By the end of supper Harry felt entirely satisfied, the whole affair with Rosier all but forgotten. He found his new Slytherin acquaintances immensely entertaining. Of them, he took a particular interest in Daphne. Her prim exterior hid a sharp tongue and an opinionated mind. She also seemed unjustifiably wary of Harry. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve such precaution, but it was amusing nonetheless.

Still, Harry wasn’t foolish enough to think of them as any permanent sort of friends. Despite their standoffish bearings and general nonchalance, they still occasionally looked to Harry with an awed glint in their eyes or some odd, unreadable expression whenever his fringe parted to show his scar.

He was a half-blood that hailed from a prominent Pureblood family whose reputation preceded him. To them, Harry was a perplexing, living legend that was a mix of Pureblood features, muggle slangs, and just general strangeness. 

And so, Harry knew that they would never be able to fully understand him, just as the children at the adoption clinic had never truly gotten to know him, either.

“First years, this way,” a tall, spindly girl with straight, dark hair reaching her mid-back stepped up and beckoned to the first years once supper was finished. Harry recognized her as the girl with the prefect badge that had come to warn Rosier’s group during their argument. As they walked, she continued her introductions in a practiced, perfunctory tone. “My name is Gemma Farley and I am one of the Slytherin prefects. Welcome to the House of Serpents. Here, you’ll find that we do things differently from all the other houses.”

As she spoke she led them through the winding corridors and down a flight of shifting stairs. Her voice carried in the empty halls.

“We are Slytherins, which means were are known for our cunning. No recklessness, spinelessness, or bookishness. We are _cunning_. Most of you know that Slytherin doesn’t exactly have the best reputation in the school. Which means we shoulder responsibility for every one of our actions. Stay out of trouble and don’t foolishly make enemies. If you want to kill someone, by all means, go ahead, but dispose of the body and _don’t get caught_. If you make the right friends, maybe they’ll even help you dig the grave.”

That drew a few chuckles from his fellow first years, but Harry remained thoughtful. He didn’t think that the prefect had meant it as a joke.

“So keep all conflicts and altercations _within_ the dungeons and _only_ within the dungeons. We Slytherins have to present a united front anywhere else in the school. I don’t want to hear so much as a whisper from _anyone_ not in Slytherin about our affairs. Understood?”

By this point, they had already descended a set of spiralling stairs into a dimly lit, high ceilinged passageway. Upon hearing murmured affirmations from the students, Farley gave an approving nod and led them to what appeared to be a nondescript stone wall.

“Very well. Then I welcome you to the Slytherin Common Rooms. The password for this week is _Merlin_.”

 At the word, the wall rippled, then _retracted_. Harry’s eyes widened marginally as the stone seemingly fell into itself and revealed an open entrance that led into a room aglow with a glassy green.

“The password is changed every month, and you may approach any of the prefects within the last week of the month for the new one. If the password had already been changed, then they will be under no obligation to tell you should you ask. Take this as a lesson in preparation. We do not tolerate slackers, in _any form_.” Farley finished her speech, waving them in through the doorway and following behind.

Harry let out a soft exhale at the sight that awaited him. 

The Slytherin Common Room was a spacious hall lit by glass spheres along the walls that held faintly flickering green flames. In fact, the entire room was furnished in various shades of green, silver, and black. 

An L-shaped sofa and plush seats were arranged in front of a large fireplace. Tall bookcases lined the walls and green tapestries hung from the ceiling. Further back, the stone gave way to a long stretch of glass, through which a variety of strange creatures and underwater vegetation could be seen.

Numerous leather armchairs were strewn across the remaining empty space. Combined with the thick silver lined carpet of a deep forest green, the overall ambiance of the room appeared much more like a sophisticated study than a simple school dormitory. 

It was _beautiful_. And it was going to be home for the next seven years.

_His_ home. 

At the thought, Harry’s reverential expression morphed into an ecstatic smile.

“That is all for tonight. I will leave you to get unpacked and prepare for school tomorrow. Your trunks and schedules have already been sent to the rooms and they will relocate to your chosen beds. First years, head down the stairs to the bottom floor. Boys are on the left and girls are on the right,” Farley gave a loud clap, startling several first years who were still dazedly looking around the room. She turned to leave, but just before she reached the stairs, she stopped and turned around. “And one last thing. This is merely a suggestion, but important nonetheless. If you can, travel in groups. Or you might just find that there are students from other Houses who can be far crueler than any Slytherin.”

And with that ominous warning, she glided up the stairs and out of sight. The first year stood in silence for a moment. None of them knew what quite to do next, while a few were still mulling over the prefect’s words.

“That was charming,” Harry rolled his eyes, turning to Draco’s group who stood nearby. “I’m going to go check out the dorms. Coming?” 

If the common room was already this luxurious, he couldn’t wait to see what the actual residences were like. After a few more words, they split off from Daphne and Parkinson, with Harry leading the way. 

“You don’t seem worried at all,” Draco commented as they made their way downstairs. His hair was almost the exact shade as bottle glass under the more pronounced green glow from the sphere that lit up the halls.

“What is there to be worried about?” Harry asked, inciting a scoff from Blaise.

“I don’t know what to make of you,” the Zabini heir shook his head. “Don’t you see? You’re Harry Potter, _sorted into Slytherin_. A lot of people are unhappy. Now both students in and outside of Slytherin are going to be out to get you.”

“None of _you_ have tried to kill me yet,” Harry raised a brow, jumping over an uneven step. “Besides, I don’t really care what they do. I’ll handle it when it happens.”

“Right,” Blaise demurred. Draco and Theodore looked equally skeptical.

They reached the bottom landing and followed the left corridor. There were several well-lit chambers with the doors swung wide open, and Draco peered into one of them.

“It’s five people to a room,” he informed him a moment later. “Let’s go further in. Slytherin always gets the least students. I doubt they’d fill up all the rooms, so we should be able to keep our room to us four.”

Harry was surprised that the Pureblood heirs had so easily accepted him into their midst. But he guessed that it was mostly out of curiosity than anything else. His family was also a prestigious one, so that probably also held some sway. Either way, Harry didn’t particularly mind. He’d prefer rooming with them than taking his chance with unknown variables that were the other students, anyway.

They finally came to a door at the very end of the hall. Harry gave an impressed hum as he crossed over the threshold. There were a total of five four-poster beds, with one directly across the door, and two on either side in the corners of the room. The drapes were the same dark green as the common room carpet while the sheets and duvet were a soft shade of emerald.

With an enthused yell Draco claimed the bed in the center. Harry shrugged and moved further in and chose the bed that was in the far corner. He always hated when the other children at the clinic would encroach on his privacy, so he had always preferred the more secluded ‘corner spots’ that the other children all seemed to hate.

Blaise and Theodore took the beds on the other side of the room, leaving the one directly opposite of Harry empty.

Harry sat down on the extravagantly soft bed and absently wondered how the luggage was going to arrive. As soon as the thought passed his mind, a dull _thump_ sounded throughout the room. He turned and saw that, except for the empty one, a trunk now sat at the foot of everyone’s beds.

“Perfect timing,” Draco leaped up and headed for his, unclasping the silver buckles on his ostentatious trunk. “Who’s up for a game of wizard’s chess?” He smugly took out a case that appeared to be made entirely of marble. “Father got me a new set.”

“Then I hope you’re prepared to lose,” Blaise said smugly, plopping himself down across from Malfoy. Theodore took out a thick book and laid down on his bed.

“Next round, Potter?” Draco asked, seeing Harry rise from his bed.

Harry flashed him a lopsided smile. “Maybe later. I’ve got to speak to the Prefects. I think they’ve misplaced my schedule. It might take a while.”

“Ah, shame.”

Harry closed the door behind him and slipped a sheet of parchment from his sleeves. He scanned its contents as he walked, folding it once he was done.

It turned out that Slytherin had Charms first thing the following morning. Along with Gryffindor. The Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry was almost famous. Harry found it all rather ridiculous. He never did quite understand the concept behind House pride. As far as he was concerned, the only thing that’d be affecting his future was his own individual progress, not how many points he won for Slytherin.

A smile tugged at his lips as he slipped his timetable back into his robes. He was in no mood to coop himself up in the dorm all night playing _children’s games_. His roommates may have taken Hogwarts for granted after growing up surrounded by magic, but Harry was different. He knew he’d have to make the best of his time at the school, and he’s got only seven years to do it. It really wasn’t that long, in the scheme of things.

Aside from the Chamber of Secrets, there were _countless_ other accounts of special rooms or covert locations within the castle walls.

Harry was determined to unearth as many as he can. It was a _bloody_ magical castle-who knew what sort of ancient artifacts or priceless texts were hidden away beneath layers of cobwebs.

He took the stairs two steps at a time and burst into the common room, slightly breathless. The effulgent glow of the numerous glass spheres gave the empty room a dream-like quality. Harry took a moment to soak in the magnificence and _magic_ of it all, eyes roaming over every chair and table.

This was where he belonged.

The picturesque moment shattered when loud steps echoed down from the upper-level stairs. At the sound of a familiar, haughty tone, Harry turned around and watched as two robed figures descended the steps.

A moment later he found himself staring into the heavy-lidded eyes of Alois Rosier. Rosier stopped in his tracks, a cruel gleam flashing through his eyes as his lips twisted upwards.

“ _Potter_.”

 

 

* * *

 

Harry Potter was _infuriating_. How dare that half-blood, Light-aligned, goody-two-shoed _boy_ saunter through the Common Room doors, trailing behind the Pureblood heirs and heiresses as if he _belonged_. Just who did he think he was?

Remembering how their first meeting had gone, Alois snarled and repressed the urge to seek out the boy and curse the living daylights out of him.

“What’s got you so chuffed? Look like you’d just swallowed a toad.”

“Shut it, Bletchley,” Alois hissed, hand twitching for his wand.

The blonde Keeper simply guffawed, knowing full well that Alois wouldn’t be able to do a thing to him with the Quidditch season drawing close. Not unless he wanted to suffer the wrath of the fans, which meant nearly the entirety of the Slytherin House.

“Quit throwing a tantrum over your row with Potter,” Miles Bletchley rolled his eyes. “It was entertaining at first, but now it’s just getting old. We both know he’s all talk but no spells.”

Alois shoved through the doors to the third-year corridors with more force than necessary and took petty satisfaction at the resounding crash of wood against stone.

“What do you want?” He growled as he walked, Bletchley still tagging close to his heels.

The blonde half-blood was already barely tolerable on his best day. But now, Alois had neither the patience nor the desire to deal with his sadistic antics.

“Oh, just curious,” the other wizard waved him off, a lazy smile splitting his face. “It’s not every day that someone can so thoroughly piss off a Rosier. I’m just interested in what _you’d_ do. I doubt you’d take it lying down, and you’re the top scoring DADA student in our year. It’s bound to be good.”

That attempt at emotional manipulation was as subtle as a brick to the face, but Alois still allowed himself to feel a spike of smugness at the compliment. It was true, so why couldn’t he? Maybe he _would_ let Bletchley stick around. 

Revenge was best served with an audience, after all.

Just as they reached the common room, Alois caught sight of the last person he had expected to encounter there. His step halted as a surge of glee ran through him.

“ _Potter_.” He crooned.

A pair of jadeite eyes stared expressionlessly back into his. They followed his person as he slipped down the last few steps and stopped just several steps away.

In the clamour of the Great Hall, he never had the time to take a proper look at the Potter scion. But now that he did, he was feeling somewhat unsettled.

The lighting of the Common Room only seemed to enhance the green of Potter’s eyes, which strangely brought back the memory of that first time his father had taught him the Unforgivables. Remembering that flash of green light still brought chilling tingles down his spine.

“Rosier,” Potter-the _insolent_ brat-had the audacity to sound amused. One corner of his lips raised in the semblance of a smile.

Alois resisted the urge to take a step backward. 

For the love of Merlin, this was a _first year_! If Flint or Carrow saw him now, he’d never be able to live it down. Thank Morgana the former was preoccupied with his new girlfriend from Hufflepuff and the latter had already graduated.

Nevertheless, a part of him had to bitterly admit that Potter stuck quite the imposing figure.

Despite his small stature, there was a predatory grace to his relaxed stance-not unlike a tightly coiled snake before during the tense moments before it snapped forth with open jaws. He stood with a slight slouch, but head held high and completely unfazed. His smile was almost angelic and it barely just managed to offset the unmitigated, _blood-chilling_ coldness of his wide-blown pupils. His crooked smile looked like it could cut.

Above all else, he _fit_ into the Slytherin Common Room like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle they had never realized was incomplete. The green of the tapestries, the silver of the armchairs, and even the gleaming obsidian of the shelves all seemed to dull before the sheer brilliance of his emerald eyes. Just through his stance, he achieved the one thing that no one Alois ever knew had ever managed to do-he appeared as if he was _home_.

Potter stood completely at ease like he’d belonged here all along. But that wasn’t all.It almost seemed as if Slytherin belonged to _him_ just as much as he belonged in Slytherin. His regime was unquestionable. He was so secure in its absolution that there was simply nothing that can shake him.

And staring into the depth of those bottomless eyes, Alois was almost beginning to _believe_ it.

“Rosier?” Only Bletchley’s concerned voice managed to pull him back from the edge of the precipice. Alois let out a sharp breath, breaking out in cold sweat. Harry continued to smile, his expression unchanging.

“What was that?” Alois’s voice nearly cracked near the end. He felt a sudden wave of searing outrage. How _dare_ he- how dare the _dirty_ half-blood mess with his thoughts- “What did you do!?”

Harry seemed legitimately taken aback. “I dunno what you mean.”

“How _dare_ you lie to me,” Alois took a step forward and pulled out his wand. “What did you do!? _ANSWER ME_!” 

“Rosier, Potter did nothing.” Alois turned at the soft voice only to be faced with Bletchley’s confusion. “I swear to Salazar, you just froze up. Hey-Listen to me- _Potter did nothing_.”

But Alois was beyond caring about what the other half-blood was saying. In a single fluid stroke, he pulled out his wand-a dark, gnarly thing that was nearly the length of his arm. Its effect was lost when the tip evidently trembled in his too tight hold.

Potter’s siren-like smile only widened, showing the glinting sharpness of his incisors. “Are you sure you want to do that?” His voice was so soft that Aloise was surprised he had managed to catch it.

“Shut up, you _filthy half-blood_ ,” he snarled.

Potter’s expression hardened though the smile remained. What little playfulness that had been left in his bearing bled away within seconds. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as Potter’s back straightened. There was a cold fury in his eyes, so pure in its fierceness that Alois almost felt his throat tighten at the sight.

His hands slipped into his pockets and Alois tensed, a hex on the tip of his tongue.

But instead of pulling out his wand, Harry retrieved…a slip of _paper_. Upon a closer glance, Alois realized it was a newspaper cutting-or to be more precise, it was a cutting from _The Daily Prophet_. It was from that morning, too.

“Well,” Harry mused. “Looks like Daddy’s on trial.”

Alois felt as if he’d just swallowed a Freezing Draught.

“‘Randolph Evans Rosier,’” Harry read aloud. His smirk was one straight from the pits of hell. “‘Suspected of being a Death Eater and for the murder of half-blood Jolkins family. To be tried by the Wizengamot on the Sunday of the following week.’ Convenient, isn’t it? Can you imagine how much faster this would all go down- if, let’s say, his son was accused of assaulting the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Then suddenly he was laughing. It was such a terrible sound that the back of Alois’s neck prickled. The moment dragged on until finally, it didn’t.

Harry gave one last chuckle before meeting his eyes and beaming. Dimples showed in his cheeks. “Ah, sorry. I just thought it funny, you calling _me_ filthy, considering all the things your father has done.”

Alois didn’t know how he had been able to find his voice, but he was choking out a reply before he was even aware of the action. “My father is simply _cleaning_ our world of _dirtied blood_. And I’m _proud_ of it. Jolkin-he married a _mudblood_. He _deserved_ his _sticky_ , _painful_ end.”

If it was at all possible Harry smile turned even sharper. He hummed, the newspaper clipping burning to ashes while still in the grasp of his fingers. It fell to the floor, specks of bone white and grey distinctively clear against the rich green of the carpet. 

He dropped the last of the clipping, which showed a picture of Randolph Rosier, looking harried as numerous cameras flashed around him. The cinders burnt past the border of the picture and suddenly his face contorted in a silent scream. Alois couldn’t look away from the twisting face of his father as it burned, at last turning into white ash.

“Let me tell you a little something, _Alois_ ,” Harry stepped closer, his movements lithe and silent. 

Alois couldn’t muster up the strength to even back away.

“Half of your _precious_ Purebloods are already a blubbering, inbred _mess_. Just _look_ at Crabbe and Goyle.” A hint of genuine amusement gleamed in his eyes. “They wouldn’t know ‘cunning’ if it slugged them across the face. Only the smarter families have been careful with their marriage arrangements and had managed to avoid such a fate.”

By that point, they were a mere arm’s length apart. Alois found himself standing ramrod still, each joint locked tight and muscles constricted. Static danced across his skin as Potter neared.

“Have you ever wondered why half-bloods are _so_ powerful?”

A second paused in deafening silence.

“For example…Albus Dumbledore.”

Alois’s jaw clenched.

“Gellert Grindelwald.”

Another beat.

“Ollivander.”

“Professor McGonagall.”

“…In fact, I’d bet my inheritance that your _beloved_ Lord Voldemort was a half-blood, too.”

With every successive name Alois’s eyes had widened, but at the last mention, he snapped. “How dare you _taint_ the Dark Lord’s-”

Harry sniggered, and that action in itself felt significantly more offensive than any of his words had that night. “Oh, _please_. You’re a coward, and you and I both know you won’t be able to so much as stun me. How _proud_ must your father be now, hm?”

As if to further hammer in his point, Harry _turned his back_ and headed for the Common Room exit.

Alois tasted bitter bile at the back of his throat. For a moment he stood motionlessly, but then he lurched forward, driven on by a sudden assault of humiliation, anger, and debilitating fear. He brandished his wand with shaky hands and a curse slipped past his lips, more muscle memory than conscious effort.

But instead of fanning out in a cutting slash, the purple light fizzled and _exploded_ as soon as it had left the tip of his wand. He barely registered being thrown back, with the sudden intense onslaught of _agony_ that erupted from his every limb. Then there was an aching pain in the back of his skull, and then he was dragged into the suffocating darkness.

 

 

* * *

 

Daphne was currently lying face up on her bed, basking in the relief of the unexciting evening. 

She had almost been entirely certain that the moment Harry Potter’s Sorting finished, Slytherin had seen the last of its peaceful days. But apparently, she was wrong.

She wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted her to begin conversing with Potter at the Great Hall. Their eyes had met, and that was all it took for her to feel the telltale signs of foreign magic digging its hooks deep into her mind. She hadn’t sure if Potter was even doing it consciously. And if he wasn’t, it was all the more frightening. 

Looking away hadn’t been an option.

So she spoke.

Quickly enough, he was dragged into their small, exclusive group, and Draco, Blaise, and Theodore had even claimed him for the fourth member of their dorm. Daphne almost felt sorry for allowing Potter to slip through into their circle and thereby subjecting her childhood friends to his presence for the rest of the year. 

But they wouldn’t have held out anyway. 

Not with Draco’s searing curiosity towards anyone whose reputation exceeded his.

He would’ve eventually found his way to them anyway. That was what Daphne tried to convince herself of as she relaxed against the softness of the duvets, Pansy’s droning voice somewhere to the side.

Suddenly a muffled _bang_ sounded from above. Daphne’s eyes snapped open. Almost all at once there was a flurry of half muted steps, shouts, and voices merging together into a tumultuous hum.

Without bothering to wait for Pansy to finish her sentence-she was saying something about her second cousin once removed meeting the French minister of magic-Daphne leaped up and flew out the door. Other first years were beginning to filter out of their dorms, as well, seeming somewhat alarmed but for the most part, confused.

Daphne didn’t share in their hesitance.

She made a beeline for the stairs and vaulted them three at a time. It may have been unbecoming for the Greengrass Heiress, but right then Daphne just _didn’t_ care. Because _Potter_ must have done something, and she _had_ to know what.

Who was it _really_ that she had so foolishly dragged into the midst of her friends? 

Was it an innocent, young boy who grew up in the muggle world, blissfully unaware of his title? Was it the saviour of the Light? Or was it…something worse?

She roughly shoved aside another girl and entered the Common Room at a near-sprint. Her eyes frantically swept the expanse of the quickly filling hall, finally catching sight of a familiar mess of black hair. Then, as her eyes drifted downwards, her heart stopped in her chest.

_Oh_.

It was worse. Much, _much_ worse.

Alois Randolph Rosier was lying in a pool of his own blood, broken body convulsing with the aftereffects of some Dark Curse. His face was a bloodless pale and his rolled-back eyes were still open, but all she could see were the whites.

At his side, his hand still had an iron-tight grip on his wand, which was occasionally giving off streams of agitated sparks. There was a bloodied spot on the stone wall nearly two-and-a-half meters above where he laid, and a faint trail of red dragged beneath it to the ground.

Daphne felt the cold grip her then, its unrelenting grasp tightening around her ribcage and chest and filling her with growing dread. The world seemed to shake around her. Only when her knees gave out and she fell to the ground did she realize that it had been _her_ who was trembling.

At that position, she could finally see Potter’s face half-way across the room. He wasn’t smiling, but it wasn’t any better. His eyes were fixed downwards at Rosier’s crumbled body, but it was as if he wasn’t seeing a life at all. He appeared fascinated, _curious_ , eyes hungrily devouring every detail of the curse. 

Then, there was a sudden sob.

Potter was the first to react, reaching the kneeling first year within several short steps. He lowered himself and wrapped an arm around the trembling boy, green eyes practically aglow with sympathy. The boy, Daphne noted with surprisingly no negative emotions at all, was the only other muggle-raised student aside from Potter sorted into Slytherin that year. It was no wonder why everyone else had vacated the space around him as if he had some infectious disease. 

A whimper escaped his lips and he clutched tightly onto Potter, while the other whispered soothingly. After what seemed like an impossibly long moment the boy looked up with teary gratitude.

For the first time in her life, Daphne felt a stabbing pity for a _muggleborn_. She knew from that moment onwards, the boy was as good as Potter’s. And from the genuine grin that lit up Potter’s face as he assured his new _puppet_ , he knew it too.

Daphne shuddered.

He stood, pulling the still sniffling boy up along with him. Upon turning and seeing Daphne, he gave her a small grin, before he was being led aside by two prefects. Not doubt to interrogate him about what _he_ had done. Daphne knew better than to think of Rosier’s _misfortunes_ as anything other than a deliberate attack.

“Daphne, you alright?” A concerned Pansy was suddenly at her side, offering her a hand. Daphne took it and shakily stood.

“Terrible thing, isn’t it?” The Parkinson heiress murmured. “Professor Snape already checked. Apparently, the spell was fired from his own wand. They’re labelling it as a case of practice gone wrong.”

Daphne blinked, feeling nauseous.

Not seeming to see her friend’s small flinch, Pansy continued softly. “At least the spell he used isn’t dark enough to land him in Azkaban. They’re saying it’s too unsafe to move him now. Professor Snape is going to fetch Madam Pomfrey.”

Daphne found her eyes drifting to Potter again, and clenched her fist until her nails were digging painfully into her palms.

She hated herself for still admiring the way that Potter’s dark lashes framed his glimmering eyes, the way his fringe spilled messily over his forehead, and the _vortex_ of magic that seemed to swirl around him, subconsciously drawing others in.

Despite knowing that the ‘Saviour of the Light’ hadn’t ever existed-

Despite knowing that the Light side had put all their hopes into _a monster_ -

Yet, she somehow still can’t make herself hate _Potter_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of chapter three...
> 
> Also, Rosier's still alive (he's just badly injured) so don't worry. Little Harry hasn't purposefully murdered anyone yet.
> 
> The reasons behind his back-fired curse will also be explained in the next chapter.
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Harry takes his first lessons at Hogwarts! 
> 
> He will show the school that he hasn't a care about the pre-established inter-house rivalries.
> 
> Meanwhile, rumours spread.
> 
> Bletchley is afraid, but mostly he's just impressed...


	4. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape is infuriated, Bletchley has commitment issues, and Daphne comes to a realization...
> 
> Harry, meanwhile, sets his sights on students beyond Slytherin. He attends his first lessons and sees Professor Quirrell for the first time.

Miles Bletchley had never considered himself a ‘follower’ nor a ‘leader’.

There were far too many risks in association with both titles.

He was the quintessential Slytherin, easily changing with the tide and never placing himself in a disadvantageous position. He had joined the school Quidditch team as Keeper in the second year and he _played well_ , which meant that his safety within the House, at least, was guaranteed.

As the eldest son of a prestigious pureblood family, he was also able to maintain relatively good relationships with the other heirs and heiresses in Slytherin, Rosier being one of them. 

Of course, he was careful not to get _too_ close with anyone that held more sway than him, since commitment was dangerous in itself.

However, as he stood then and stared into that pair of horrifically green eyes and saw himself clearly reflected within, a part of him thought that perhaps being a ‘follower’ wasn’t _that_ bad, if the one he followed was _him_.

Harry Potter was born for greatness. 

Miles couldn’t believe how utterly _blind_ everyone must have been to have pegged the boy for a Gryffindor. He had been shocked, then mockingly amused, along with the vast majority of the other Slytherins when the Sorting Hat had voiced its decision.

But now, he knew that there had never been a chance of the Potter heir being placed anywhere else. The other houses simply wouldn’t be able to survive having him in their midst. Slytherins, however, were resilient and resourceful. They knew when to stand their ground and when to bow.

At that moment, Miles knew his only option was the latter.

“I can’t believe he was practicing spell casting in the Common Room,” he murmured. Potter raised an inquisitive brow. “Luckily it didn’t hit anyone.”

Potter gave a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Ah, Bletchley, right?” His eyes were dancing with amusement. “That’s fine, there’s no need to lie. You can tell the others what _really_ happened here.” He glided closer and nudged Rosier’s unconscious body with the tip of his shoe. “No one can pin anything on me anyway. He fired the spell himself. I’m sure they’ll check.”

Miles carefully studied the shorter boy. For a moment, he saw something insidious and terrible hidden beneath his cheerful smile.

“Alright, then,” he finally assented, running a hand through his slicked back blonde hair, distinctively uncomfortable under Potter’s expectant gaze.

“Well?” The green-eyed boy tilted his head, elbows leaning idly against the armchair behind him. “Shouldn’t the Head of the House be informed?”

Miles jumped on the chance to escape. “I’ll go right now.”

“Good,” Potter smiled, and Miles a warmth surge through him at the near praise.

It was only when he had one foot outside the Common Room before he realized that throughout the entire encounter, Potter never even had his wand out. He had stood empty-handed when he burnt the newspaper clipping with his bare fingers, and he had stood equally empty-handed when, by some miracle, Rosier’s curse meant for _him_ had spectacularly backfired.

A shudder ran through the Bletchley heir. His sudden epiphany barely brought a pause to his stride. He followed the winding stairs that lead up into Professor Snape’s offices, over a dozen thoughts running amok through his mind.

Before he even reached the potion master’s rooms, his decision had already been made. He knew that once he headed down this path, there was no return. 

He raised a hand and gave three firm knocks on the dark wood door, easily rearranging his expression into one of distress.

Still, he wasn’t worried. After all, he would have been forced to choose a side one day, and he would accept nothing but the best.

“Yes?” Snape groused as the door swung open.

“Professor Snape! Rosier tried to attack Potter, but something went wrong-we don’t know what to do!”

The dark-haired wizard cursed under his breath. “Well?” He snapped. “Lead the way.”

Miles complied. Once his back was turned to the professor, his harried expression melted away into a blank mask.

Yes. He was a Slytherin, so naturally, he prioritized his own survival over all else. If surviving meant following Potter, then so be it.

 

 

* * *

 

The infirmary was a quiet, organized room that carried too many white curtains and bad memories. The air smelled of Skele-Gro potions and Calming Draughts, and the mix brought a wave of nausea over the potions master.

Severus Snape had always hated the infirmary. In fact, he had first woken up in one of these white lined beds not a week into his first year at Hogwarts and had been a constant visitor since then thanks to _James Potter_ and his little gang.

And now, one of Snape’s best students laid there as well, as a result of none other than _his_ son.

Ah, yes, Harry Potter the _Slytherin_.

Snape sneered at the thought but was pulled back when Madam Pomfrey began to speak.

“I’m afraid Mr. Rosier is suffering from a magical backlash,” she frowned, wand twirling and casting one diagnostic spell after another. “The spell he was trying to cast was of the more obscure, darker kind. It would take immense willpower and concentration.”

A sudden whimper escaped the boy’s lips. Snape stared down at his student’s trembling form, feeling a spike of dark anger. It was _Potter_ , he knew it was! Alois Rosier would never make such an amateur mistake when casting a curse. How the boy had managed to push the entirety of the blame onto Rosier, he had no idea, but he was _certain_ that Potter had a hand to play in this whole affair.

_Potter_. He ground his teeth. _It was always Potter_.

“Hesitation-driven miscasts _only_ happen to beginners,” Snape scowled. “Mr. Rosier is a skilled, controlled wizard who is above his peers in both the practical and theoretical aspects of classes. I _highly_ doubt that-”

“Severus, are you questioning my abilities as a trained Healer?” Madam Pomfrey cut in sharply. Her tone left no room for further debate. “Besides, I said nothing about _hesitation_. There are numerous factors that could cause miscasts. For example, an internal conflict of interest, lack of self-confidence, or even fear. I am not undermining Mr. Rosier’s abilities as a wizard,” she added when Snape opened his mouth in protest. “I am merely saying that there are many variables that could have resulted in his mistake-but that is what this is. This is a case of erroneous spell casting. There is no foul play involved.”

Snape swallowed his retort and took a deep breath. Once he was sure that he was in no danger of lashing out at the Hogwarts mediwitch again, he gestured towards the bed. “Will he be alright?”

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. She set down her wand and began to rummage through a drawer of bottled potions. For a moment, all that could be heard was the clinking of glassware.

“I could treat this as I would with any other case of malicious magic attacks. However, since Mr. Rosier’s condition is self-inflicted, it would take much longer for his magic to settle and for him to regain consciousness.”

That was better than what he had feared.

“And we’re _sure_ that there is only one curse that needs to be handled?”

“Severus, that’s quite enough,” Madam Pomfrey bit out. “I have already checked _thrice_ , to _your_ insistence! You yourself matched the spell that injured him to the one last cast by his own wand, which, mind you, I had to _pry_ from his grasp when we finally brought him in!”

Snape fumbled, taken aback. But it seemed that the other witch wasn’t finished yet.

“You are paranoid, unnecessarily suspicious, and projecting your own memories of James Potter onto his son, _who is eleven_! Don’t you think for one moment that I don’t know what you’re implying. I can tell you right now, with full confidence, that Mr. Potter was not the cause of this. Mr. Bletchley himself swore that poor Harry was too stunned to even raise his wand in defence. Just how horrible do you think an eleven-year-old boy is capable of being?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded pained.

Snape remained silent for a long moment, before he tipped his head in a stiff nod. “I apologize for my behaviour. Please inform me if anything else happens. Thank you, Poppy.”

With that, he turned and swept out into the halls. He was tensed and simmering with repressed anger. Of course, no one would ever think badly of the perfect saviour of wizarding Britain. That alone would be enough to blind them all from his faults, never mind the boy himself.

The least he could do for Rosier now is lessen his crimes. Slytherins could gossip all they want, but they were discrete enough to keep their secrets strictly within the House. But he still had to give a cover story to the rest of the school, students and professors included.

It must not be known that Rosier had been trying to attack _Harry Potter_ , of all people.

He could only imagine the backlash that would arise if that was to ever got out. Despite the fact that this would wash Potter clean of his part in the whole incident, it was the best-and only-option if Rosier wanted to remain at Hogwarts.

So, a spell-practice mishap it was, then.

Remembering all the blood that had stained the Slytherin dormitories when he arrived was enough to make him see red.

Snape had seen how James Potter’s spawn had affected his first year Slytherins throughout supper, Draco being one of them. The entire time, he had felt a growing, chilling fear. It only got worse when Potter was suddenly pulled into Draco’s little group, and they had walked away together with Draco practically scampering behind him.

The looks with which other students had regarded him with almost reminded him of another time long ago when a group of masked witches and wizards had gazed upon one man at their helm with equal admiration and awe.

Goosebumps broke out across his skin as he drew the parallels. 

But that was impossible. Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort were complete opposites. Potter, just like his father, was disgustingly Light.

_Is he really?_ A small voice asked in the back of his mind. _He was sorted into Slytherin, after all_.

Snape swallowed, quickening his steps as if hoping to outrun that line of thought. No. As much as he hated to be reminded of the fact, Harry Potter was also the son of Lily Potter née Evans. And he refused to tarnish her memory by comparing her son with her murderer.

He had already betrayed her enough.

Nevertheless, he would have to keep a close eye on the Potter brat. Something about the boy just rubbed him the wrong way. 

It was almost as if the moment he had sat down at the Slytherin tables, the gears that would trigger a chain of terrible events had begun to turn. Snape pushed down his entirely irrational fear at the notion and steeled his determination to closely watch the boy. If he sees any sign of trouble, he would nip it in the bud. He would not leave his students to the mercies of Harry Potter. 

But Snape had an ominous premonition that he was already too late.

 

 

* * *

 

The following morning, Draco was sat at the Slytherin table along with the rest of his cohort, unusually subdued.

Bletchley had probably already spread the word of what had happened the previous night, and Draco could hardly believe it. But there was nothing in it for Bletchley if he lied, so that could only mean that Potter _really was_ the one who had landed Rosier, a _third_ year, into the Hospital Wing.

On the first day of school, no less.

Draco wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the whole matter.

He had known the moment that Rosier spoke up the previous night that something was bound to happen. Their eventual clash was inevitable. But never for a moment had he thought that Potter would be the one to walk away victorious.

Sure, he had known that the half-blood wizard was powerful, but he hadn’t realized just how powerful he really was. It said something that Potter, a first year who had yet to learn anything about magic, was able to wipe the floor with the most accomplished third-year in all of Slytherin. 

_Don’t make him angry_. That was what Bletchley had said. But Draco couldn’t even begin to imagine what anger would look like on Potter’s cheery, ever-smiling face.

“Do you think what they’re saying is true?” Pansy asked, anxiously prodding at her food from across the table.

“Shh,” Daphne hissed. “We’re not supposed to talk about _that_ beyond the Common Room, remember?”

“Come on,” Pansy rolled her eyes. “As long as we’re vague, _who cares_. But the important thing is…is it even the truth? I, for one, _highly doubt_ that Potter is capable of anything of the sort.”

Faced with several dubious stares, the Parkinson heiress groaned.

“ _What_? The boy is _soft_. How could he possibly stand a chance against Rosier?”

“I don’t believe it either,” Theodore spoke up quietly. “But why would Bletchley lie?” He echoed Draco’s thoughts.

“He wouldn’t,” Daphne drawled, setting her cup down with a solid thump. “I, for one, can see Potter doing _exactly that_. Let’s be honest here, he let Rosier off with a mere slap on the wrist.”

Pansy gapped. “A _slap on the wrist_!? Daphne, have you gone _mental_? It was a _dark_ curse that rebounded. Rosier could be out for _months_!”

“And all that blood…” Blaise muttered, eyes downcast.

“Well, at least he’s _alive_ ,” Daphne waved off their remarks dismissively.

“Potter’s _eleven_ , for Merlin’s sake,” Draco cut in, speaking for the first time that morning. “He’s not capable of killing anyone!”

Realizing the sudden rise in his voice, Draco glanced around. Only when he was sure that they had not attracted any unwanted attention did he relax.

“Isn’t he?” Daphne leaned her chin into her palm, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

The group fell silent, a somber mood settling over them. 

Draco felt a pickle of irritation. How could Daphne think so horribly of the Potter heir? Whatever he had done to Rosier had been done in self-defence. For some unknown reason, Daphne was acting as if she had expected something of the sort all along. In fact, she was the least affected of all of them when Bletchley’s account of the happenings that night had reached their ears.

But before he could further argue, Blaise raised his head.

“Well, he’s here, isn’t he? Why don’t we just ask him ourselves?” Blaise gestured towards the doors, which had swung open.

Harry strolled into the Great Halls with a skip to his step. Dozens of eyes snapped to him the moment he entered, mainly from the Slytherin table. He grinned as he caught the gaze of a few students.

“And risk getting killed?” Daphne scoffed. “No thanks.”

“He’s not a bloody murderer, _Greengrass_!” Draco slammed a hand down on the table, fed up with his childhood friend.

Daphne looked back almost pityingly.

But before their quarrel would escalate, the subject of their discussion made a sudden sharp turn.

Right before their very eyes, Harry Potter headed _away_ from their group. Draco could hear the whispers steadily rise in volume as Potter walked to the other end of the room and plopped himself down at the _Gryffindor_ table. It was as if a floodgate had suddenly broken when a fierce surge of whispers rose all at once.

Potter didn’t even seem to realize as he dove straight into a conversation with a brown haired boy Draco remembered as Seamus Finnigan, a half-blood.

“What is he trying to pull!?” Pansy near screeched. “Choosing Gryffindor over Slytherin, is he now?”

Draco’s thoughts were headed towards the same direction, but within hours, he was proven wrong. Potter had joined them in Charms as if nothing had happened, but in Transfiguration he was once again seated with the lions between Finnigan and that muggleborn Dean Thomas. They seemed to be caught in a lively discussion over some Muggle show.

At lunch, Potter once again split off from their group and-

Draco’s brows raised.

Potter sat down straight in the midst of the Ravenclaw table, completely at ease. The students around him seemed confused and skeptical at first, but _somehow_ , within moments he had them wholly engaged in a loud debate. Several second years had even wandered over to join in.

At some point, Professor Flitwick had approached the group. Potter, after greeting him politely, then proceeded to say something that made the half-goblin practically vibrate with excitement. For next half-hour Professor Flitwick stood by their table, gushing on and _on_ about some complicated magical theory that even Draco couldn’t comprehend. 

In fact, Potter seemed to be the only student whose eyes had yet to glaze over. Occasionally, he would slip in a sentence or two that would, if at all possible, further brighten the short professor’s eyes and have him go off on another tangent.

“At least now we know he’s not choosing _anything_ over Slytherin,” Draco said dully, in regards to Pansy’s statement that morning. “I think Potter just doesn’t understand the concept of _separate Houses_.”

Blaise snorted. “He’s really something, huh?”

Pansy huffed, but now, she seemed more exasperated than offended.

Daphne didn’t say a word, but her expression seemed inappropriately solemn for their light-hearted banter.

“Almost seems as if he’s _collecting_ ,” Blaise leaned forward, peering around Theodore’s hunched figure. “Can you imagine?” He held up his hand and began ticking down his fingers. “Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw…guess we know where he’d be at dinner. The Puffs will welcome him with open arms, I wager. Then he’d have the whole set!” The half-Italian boy guffawed.

Daphne’s head snapped up as she fixed upon Blaise a piercing stare. Draco started, subconsciously straightening despite not being on the receiving end of those eyes.

“Daph?” Blaise’s smile faded.

Suddenly she stood, nearly toppling over her mug of hot tea. She mouthed something to herself that sounded suspiciously like ‘collection’. Draco froze at the stricken and panicked glisten of her eyes. He had never before seen such an expression on the face of the normally prim heiress. 

“Daph, what’s wrong?” Pansy stood as well, reaching out a hand in placation.

“I-I’ve got to go.”

“Wait-” Draco called out, moving to stand.

Before anyone of them could say another word, she was off, rushing past the tables out the Great Hall. 

Draco slowly sat back down from his half arisen position, feeling entirety bewildered by her abrupt exit. “What just happened?” He demanded, turning to face his equally bemused friends.

“That’s it,” Blaise grumbled, dropping his fork and knife into his half-eaten plate of food. “All of Slytherin is going bonkers.”

“She’s probably still upset by what happened last night,” Pansy said carefully. Draco nodded along with the others, but it was clear that none of them, not even Pansy herself, seemed entirely convinced.

“It was probably nothing,” Draco set down his cutlery too, setting his bag over his shoulders and standing from the tables. “Come on. Let’s get to Potions.”

The rest of his group followed. Their trip down the narrow stairs and into the depths of the dungeons was passed in uncomfortable silence.

 

 

* * *

  

 

Harry entered the potions classroom at a breakneck pace, almost crashing headfirst into a sulking blonde.

“There you are, Potter,” Draco sniffed condescendingly. “You’re late. I’d almost thought you’d switched Houses.”

“Me? Never. Why, I reckon I still have a good half-minute left,” Harry laughed, good naturally swinging an arm around the Malfoy heir’s shoulder. “What are you doing standing here? I nearly killed you.”

Draco gave him a flat stare. “Waiting for my potions partner of course. Come on. Let’s get seated before we’re actually late and Sev-er, Professor Snape comes in.”

Harry laughed but dutifully followed the blonde anyway to two empty seats at the very front of the class. Blaise and Theodore sat next to them, Parkinson sat with a chubby girl named Millicent Bulstrode at the table behind them, and Daphne was curiously absent.

They barely managed to settle into their seats before the classroom doors crashed open and the surliest man Harry had ever seen in his entire life strolled in. He ignored the wide-eyed students for the most part, but when he slunk past Harry, he fixed him with a glare that practically screamed ‘I’m onto you’.

Harry raised a brow in bemusement but returned a smile, and took joy at the darkening of the grouchy professor’s face.

“What did you _do_ to him?” Draco murmured beside him, sounding mildly impressed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look on his face, and he’s my _godfather_ , so I would know.”

“Beats me,” Harry hid a shrug. “I’ve never seen him my entire life.”

Their exchange was cut off when Professor Snape retrieved a scroll of parchment-the register, Harry realized a moment later-and began to call out names. Some point into the routine, he suddenly paused, lips twisting up viciously. “Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new _celebrity_.”

If people hadn’t been looking before, they certainly were now. Suddenly, Harry found the entire situation ridiculously funny. The owlish gawks of the first years juxtaposed with the derisive, narrow-eyed glower of the potions master brought about a bubbling laughter that threatened to tumble out of his lips. Harry lowered his head, shoulders trembling with suppressed glee. Draco and his friends looked at him as if he had finally cracked, which only made him shake harder.

Snape, however, was no longer paying him any mind. He had begun to drone on about the miraculousness of potions and his own prowess, which Harry thought was quite pointless consider the whole school knew of the man’s hatred for the class.

“Harry? You alright?” Draco’s genuine concern broke through the last vestige of his self-enforced silence.

Harry let out a sound that was a mix between a choked cough and a hysterical laugh, cutting off the end of Professor Snape’s speech. A heavy silence suddenly descended upon the classroom.

“Think this class is a joke, do you now?” Snape strode across the aisle, quickly coming to stand right before their table. He towered over Harry, obsidian eyes completely blank.

After curbing his amusement with great difficulty, Harry tilted his head upwards and met the stare head-on, barely noting Snape’s minute flinch. That was unusual. Harry could've sworn he even saw a flash of pain. But what was it about him that could incite such a reaction? He would have to look into it later.

“Of course not, _sir_ ,” Harry articulated, his tone bordering on the sardonic. “Draco was being amusing. I was simply responding.”

The black robed man swirled to face Draco, who looked slightly dazed. “Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco’s eyes widened, frantically shifting between Professor Snape and Harry. Harry grinned, and that was all the motivation Draco needed to nod. “Sorry, sir. I hadn’t-er-meant to disrupt the lesson.”

For a moment the man looked surprised, then quickly the expression turned to one of bitterness, probably at the fact that his godson had chosen a stranger over him.

Harry wasn’t sure whether to be smug or concerned that Draco would rather face the gloomy professor’s wrath than his. Perhaps Bletchley was simply just that efficient at spreading gossip. Or maybe Severus Snape was only a paper tiger, at least to his _dear_ Slytherins. His bias towards his own house was as obvious as a flashing beacon in the dead of night. Harry, for some reason, seemed to be excluded from that blatant favouritism.

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Snape gritted out after a pause, turning on his heels and returning to the front of the class.

“What did you do that for?” Draco asked in a sharp whisper once the professor was out of hearing distance. “What if I had gotten _detention_!? Father would kill me!”

“Aw, Draco,” Harry chuckled lightly. “Professor Snape won’t be giving any Slytherins detention, least of all _you_. I, on the other hand, am an entirely different matter. Does he have something against ‘celebrities’?” Harry echoed the professor’s previous words.

Draco rolled his eyes, a surprisingly casual gesture from the usually upright heir. “Don’t be _narcissistic_. He just hates your father.”

“Ah,” Harry huffed good-naturedly. “That’s so much better.”

For the rest of the lesson Professor Snape resolutely refused to so much as glance in their general direction, as if seeing Harry Potter seated right next to Draco brought him physical pain.

Instead, he took his anger out on the Gryffindor first years by asking unsuspecting students questions from upper year textbooks or obscure tomes. By the end of the lesson, Harry was almost certain that Gryffindor’s points have long since plummeted into the negatives.

After a long-winded lecture on the most easily made mistakes when boiling the Forgetfulness Potion, Snape seemed to finally have had enough of tormenting the first years.

“Class dismissed,” he said in his nasally voice and left the dungeons in a billow of dark robes.

What followed was a clamour of shuffling and mutters as the students packed up to leave.

“Crickey,” Seamus Finnigan exclaimed as he came up to Harry’s desk. “At least now I know which class I _won’t_ be taking for my N.E.W.T.s.”

Draco wrinkled his nose contemptuously. “ _I_ think Potions is brilliant.”

Now it was Seamus’s turn to jeer. “Naturally _you_ wouldn’t, with that old bat right your father’s back pocket and all. How much did you have to pay for that O, Malfoy?”

Draco’s face contorted angrily. Before a scuffle can break out right in the middle of their potions class, Harry grabbed the elbows of both boys and started tugging them towards the doors.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry laughed openly, head tilting back. “Everyone knows that the only courses Draco would need to buy his grades for are Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures.”

The Malfoy heir sputtered indignantly. “Herbology!? How would _you_ know? Besides, we don’t have Care until the third year!”

Seamus, on the other hand, had no qualms about joining Harry in his laughter. Before they were a step out the hall, however, the half-blood was suddenly roughly shoved to a side, and another blonde took up his place at Harry’s side.

“Potter,” Bletchley gave a toothy grin. He paused before giving a nod to Draco as well. “Malfoy.”

Seamus looked as if he was about to protest, but a glare from the third year was enough to have him turning and walking the other way.

“Bletchley,” Draco said with considerable surprise. “What are you doing here? Don’t the third years have History of Magic? That’s all the way on the other side of the castle!”

Harry hummed cheerfully, knowing well the reasons behind the other’s sudden appearance. It was no secret that Bletchley always tagged behind the Slytherin with the most power. He had shadowed Rosier the previous day, but once he had been bested, the blonde instantly jumped ship.

He didn’t particularly care what the other did, as long as it didn’t bring him any trouble. Besides, it might be useful to have the other boy as an ally, no matter how disloyal he was.

As for the whole affair with Rosier, it had been an impromptu decision on his part.

Harry rarely felt anger, but when he did, it was a cold, bubbling thing that would burst out from the darkest recesses of his mind and _devour_ whatever, or whoever, that had been its cause. He didn’t care that Rosier along with most of the other Slytherins clung to their elitist Pureblood beliefs, nor that they loathed all muggles and muggleborns with a vengeance. In truth, they weren’t entirely wrong when they accused muggleborns of entering Hogwarts without having bothered with learning any of the traditions and customs with the wizarding world.

But as it stood, he had insulted _Harry_ , and insinuated that he was _inferior_. It was something that he wouldn’t stand for. So, he taught him a lesson.

Bletchley’s presence then had been a blessing in disguise. It would be useful to establish his own position in Slytherin early on, and that was at the very top. This way, others would know better than to try to target him because of his blood status.

Harry wasn’t been too worried about the head of House figuring out, either. Severus Snape was a Slytherin after all, and he knew that if Snape wanted to protect Rosier’s reputation, he cannot implicate Harry.

It seemed that being famous _did_ have some perks.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I skipped,” Bletchley shrugged, turning to Harry and bringing him out of his reverie. “What’s your next class? I’ll show you the fastest way.” 

“Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrel,” Draco answered instead, reading from his schedule. His eyes are narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the catch? We both know you’re not doing this out of the _kindness of your heart_.”

Bletchley rolled his eyes, setting off at a fast pace once he was sure they were following along. “Consider it an investment, if you will.”

“Investment?” Draco repeated incredulously.

They came to an empty hallway that appeared to be a dead end. Bletchley waved them onwards and to Harry’s surprise, there was a narrow underpass hidden from sight at the very end. With a whispered _lumos_ , Bletchley led them up the stairs. 

“Yes. Going deaf, Malfoy?” Bletchley hissed. “ _You_ may not notice, but Potter here,” he gestured smugly, “is a rising stock. So I figured, why not cast in my lot while there’s still the chance?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Draco sneered. “And after hearing all that, you think he’d be so eager to become best chums with _you_?”

“Potter’s too smart for our regular Slytherin games,” Bletchley beamed proudly, as if someone had just complimented _him_. “Might as well just be honest from the start. After all, we both stand to benefit.”

“‘Rising stock?’” Harry echoed, a hilarious grin splitting his face. The third-year’s acerbic words were strangely refreshing.

Bletchley, however, seemed to have mistaken his smile for something more sinister, since he stiffened nervously.

“Oh, loosen up,” Harry cackled at the blonde’s panicked expression. He patted the boy jovially across the back. “I don’t bite.”

The trio emerged from behind a painting into a well ventilated hall with sunlight streaming through its numerous windows. Despite their short walk, it seemed as if they had already traversed half the school.

Harry felt a brief thrill run through him. He peered back at the exit and committed it to memory. He wondered how many other hidden passageways the school held, undiscovered by both the students and the professors. 

“Wait…” Draco suddenly stumbled. He blinked as if suddenly recalling a half-forgotten thought. He turned to Harry. “Then…what Bletchley had been saying all day about Rosier…is it true?”

“Rosier?” Harry asked while Bletchley shot his fellow Pureblood a sharp glare in warning. “Oh, I didn’t do a thing, if that’s what you mean. He tried to curse me. Obviously, he still needs some practice.”

Draco groaned. The tension didn’t drain from his shoulders. “Almost get hexed, and you still have time for sarcasm.”

They finally came to a stop in front of a large set of door. Judging by the view of the Forbidden Forest from the open windows, Harry guessed they were somewhere near, if not in, the Ravenclaw Tower. 

“Well, here we are,” Bletchley announced, gesturing lazily. 

“He’s lucky the spell didn’t actually fire,” Harry commented cheerily. “Thanks, Bletchley.” He waved and pushed through the doors.

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Draco muttered, following close behind.

As they entered the classroom, a sudden odour of garlic and mold washed over them. Draco, naturally, was already beginning to loudly voice his complaints. However, it all faded to white noise for Harry when he looked up and found himself staring across the room into a pair of searing red eyes.

Unprecedented pain burst through his head, and before he was even aware of the motion, his hand had flown up and was clutching at his throbbing scar. Harry blinked the spots away from his vision, letting out a shaky breath.

When his gaze returned to the teacher, he was faced with a jittery, turbaned, timid seeming man with muddy brown eyes who looked as if he hoped nothing more than for the earth to open up and swallow him where he stood. The sudden change was almost staggering.

_How strange_ , Harry thought, a slow smirk growing at the corner of his lips. _That’s never happened before_.

Grabbing his companion by the arm, Harry dragged Draco along until they were seated somewhere in the first row. Draco grumbled about his choice, but Harry paid him no mind. He had a certain feeling that the professor was more than he seemed, and as of then, he had no idea whether it was good or bad.

Either way, Defence Against the Dark Arts was bound to be interesting.

 

 

* * *

 

The Owlery stood atop the West Tower, overlooking the Hogwarts grounds. It was a damp and murky place, even in the full bright of day. There was only one window through which light could filter through. Everywhere else was cast in soft shadows. 

Quiet hoots, clucks and occasional trills echoed throughout the circular room. It was an originally soothing place, meant for quiet letter writing or contemplation. But at the moment, Daphne was anything but _soothed_.

She was kneeling in the far corners of the room with a clear view of the door, huddled over a long strip of parchment. She dipped her quill in a jar of ink, hands shaking as she penned the last few lines of her letter.

Whenever a _clunk_ or a _thud_ sounded, her head would snap up, eyed wide and alert, before finally shifting away once she was sure that she was in no danger of being intruded upon.

Finally, she pushed herself up and stood on unsteady legs. Her eyes glistened in the dim light as she blew on the drying ink. She quickly scanned through its contents once more before rolling up the parchment.

A distinctively beautiful owl with dark teal feathers landed before her, stretching out its leg.

“I’m afraid not this time, Avis,” her voice, despite being hardly a whisper, seemed deafeningly loud in the small space.

Daphne gave her family owl a quick scratch beneath the wings, before turning towards one of the more nondescript Hogwarts barn owls. Avis gave an offended hoot before it took off and returned to its original perch.

Daphne folded her letter and slipped it into a marked envelope. She clutched it tight in her hands for a long minute, before moving to tie it to the leg of the speckled brown owl with trembling fingers. There was a hard, steely set to her eyes and her lips were thinly pressed in a weary line. The owl hopped nimbly to the windowsill and looked towards her questioningly.

“Greenhouse residence. For Lady Greengrass,” she told it. The owl chirped its agreement and set off, wings flapping in a flurry of brown and black as it took to the skies.

Daphne watched anxiously as the owl rose higher and higher, before finally fading into a small speck in the horizon. Slowly, she sank down to the straw layered ground, uncaring of the owl droppings and grime. Her eyes fluttered closed as if in silent prayer.

When she finally stood again, the lessons for the day were almost over. She patted the debris from her robes, and after ensuring that no evidence remained of her visit to the Owlery, she pushed through the door to the room and quietly descended the West Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit slow, but things will start to pick up soon...
> 
> In the next chapter, Harry attends DADA and flying lessons, and Daphne receives a reply to her letter.
> 
> So...any idea about what Daphne wrote, and why? I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts :)


	5. The Invite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry 'finds' a book, receives an invite, and gains another fan-because there can never be too many.

Harry took his time studying the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor while the rest of the class filtered in.

Professor Quirrell was a stuttering, stammering, and nervous wreck-

Yet he was also completely and utterly _fake_.

Harry had been around children enough to tell real nerves from fake ones, and he knew an act when he saw it. Besides, the man was barely trying. It was almost pathetic how none of the other children seemed to pick up on the facade, especially considering almost half the room was filled with _Slytherins_.

There were also the red eyes and the blinding pain because Harry was sure that he’s never had that reaction to _anyone_.

The real question was, just who exactly was Professor Quirrell? Was he a potential ally, enemy, or a simple bystander, like Harry? But, in the end, Harry wasn’t too worried. After all, everyone knew that the DADA professors never lasted. At most, they would stay at the school for a year, before they would either resign or be forced to leave by some terrible incident.

“This is ridiculous,” Draco muttered next to Harry. “How does Dumbledore, the old coot, expect us to _possibly_ learn anything from _that_!? Anyone could tell that he’d completely lost it.”

“He was in Slytherin, you know,” Harry twirled his quill between his fingers, raising an eyebrow meaningfully at Draco.

The blonde returned a befuddled stare. “What does that have to do with anything?”

A moment passed before Harry chuckled, giving his head a slight shake. Draco, seemingly having gotten used to Harry’s antics, appeared entirely unfazed.

“Well, _I_ was hoping that we’d actually get a decent professor for Defence this year,” he mourned, sulkily stabbing the tip of his quill into his parchment. “Thank Merlin for that curse. I don’t think I can deal with his stutters for another year.”

“A-alright, class,” Professor Quirrell chose that moment to speak up, but if anything, the noise in the classroom only increased.

Harry leaned back and watched curiously as the meek man tried and failed to get the students attention. If he had not been observing so closely, he would have likely missed the exact moment that it happened. But as luck would have it, he did not.

For the fraction of a second, a flash of annoyance passed the young professor’s features. He seemed like a completely different person, with lips thinning into a faint sneer and eyes glinting with a touch of red. For a moment it almost felt as if another face had been overlaid on top of his, hardening the angles of his face and darkening the shadows beneath his eyes. The ever constant magic in the air grew smothering to the point where even Harry felt a spike of discomfort.

But the moment passed as soon as it had come.

Nevertheless, it had achieved its purpose. The more rambunctious of the students quieted, softening the previous clamour to soft mutters. Professor Quirrell awkwardly cleared his throat. Finally, over two dozen pair of reluctant eyes and one pair of peculiarly interested ones turned towards him.

After a short pause, he launched into a lecture of the dangers of the Dark Arts. Harry sat back in his stool, the tightly coiled tenseness to his posture bleeding away into a relaxed nonchalance.

The powerful magic had gone along with the red shine of those eyes. Harry felt a pang of loss- perhaps at the lost opportunity to match that power against his own, and test who would come out victorious in the end. It was rare for him to find anyone whose magical prowess came so close to his own.

“He’s rubbish at this, isn’t he?” Draco clicked his tongue, glaring daggers towards the front where Professor Quirrell stood. “Teaching, I mean. This is almost as bad as _Binn’s_ class.”

“No surprise, though,” Blaise chirped from where he sat behind them. “We haven’t had an adequate DADA professor since Dumbledore became headmaster.”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Theodore mused without looking up from the thick book he was browsing. “That a Dark Curse is the reason why we’re getting a new professor for Defence every year.”

Harry leaned forward, tuning out the rest of the first years’ whispers. Professor Quirrell was still stuttering on about some obscure counter curse, eyes darting skittishly around the room at every person _except_ for Harry. For a minute, he wondered if the professor had felt the same horrible pain when their eyes had met. Perhaps it had something to do with that ominous power that had leaked out earlier. That and the current Professor Quirrell seemed to be on opposing ends of the spectrum, right down to the very aura of their magics. 

Was it possible for two entities to inhabit the same body?

Harry briefly considered the idea of possession before discarding the thought. There were none of the telltale signs of fear, uncertainty, or internal struggles. The transition between the two personas had seemed smooth and practiced, and it looked as if Professor Quirrell had voluntarily let the other take control.

There were countless possibilities, but Harry still knew too little to be able to pinpoint exactly what was going on with the other wizard.

“Potter.”

Harry’s eyes snapped to the Zabini heir.

“Are you staying? Quirrell’s giving us the rest of the class as a work block. He said we could leave if we wanted.”

It didn’t take long for Harry to decide.

“Nope,” he stood and swept his quills, ink jars, and spare parchment into his bag. He glanced up, a mischievous glint to his eyes. “I’m headed for the library. Are you all coming?”

 

 

* * *

 

Dinner had just begun and Daphne was feeling more than a little queasy.

She was sitting alone at the spot that was normally reserved for her group, eyes occasionally flitting to the Great Hall entrance. The first year tables were notably emptier than they had been at breakfast and lunch. Daphne was particularly aware of the few students’ absence, considering they were her _childhood friends_. It wouldn’t have been much cause for concern if _Harry Potter_ wasn’t missing along with them.

A number of horrific scenarios flickered through her mind, but before she can thoroughly dwell on any particular one, a school bag was dropped heavily on the table before her.

“Today was the _worst_ ,” Pansy groaned as she slid onto the bench across from Daphne. Her annoyance turned quickly to wariness, however, when her eyes settled upon her friend. “Are you alright?”

“Do you know where the others are?” Daphne asked instead, gesturing vaguely to the empty seats around them.

She couldn’t quite banish the memory of a pair of cold, evaluating green eyes from her mind.

Pansy rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Potter dragged them to the _library_. Lame, isn’t it?”

Daphne wasn’t sure whether the confirmation that her friends were with Potter made her feel better or worse. Luckily, a bout of noise put her worries to ease as four boys burst into the Great Hall. Potter, naturally, stood at the helm of the group, face aglow with exertion and obviously hiding a large, bulky package under his arm. Blaise and Draco were tailing him closely, both seeming fatigued and exasperated. Theodore lagged behind, eyes shining with silent amusement. 

When they plopped down next to the girls, Pansy gave them an unimpressed stare. “Your tie is crooked.” She looked pointedly to Potter, who simply grinned widely in reply but made no move to address the issue.

“The library, huh?” Daphne cocked a brow, staring at the panting boys.

“The _restricted_ section, yeah,” Blaise smirked, lowering his voice. “Potter here had a book he wanted. Naturally, we can’t deny one of our own.”

“It was wicked,” Draco smiled sharply. Daphne almost shuddered at the likeness of that grin to Potter’s. “We triggered some alarm, and Madam Pince came after us like a mad hound. I was _certain_ we were going to get caught.”

“But Potter’s brilliant at tactics,” Theodore added with a secretive smile. “And the Notice-Me-Not charm, too, apparently.”

“A natural genius,” Blaise agreed enthusiastically.

“Wait,” Pansy near screeched. The others winced at the sound. “You _stole_ a book from the _restricted section_!?”

Blaise shushed her, quickly glancing around to ensure that no one had overheard.

“What?” Draco protested as Potter slipped out the book hidden beneath his robes. “It was worth it.”

Daphne leaned forward to get a clearer view of the title. “ _Advanced Soul and Blood Magic_?” She raised a dubious brow, suppressing a shiver when her eyes met Potter’s. “I thought that book was illegal-banned a century ago, in fact.”

“Oh, it is,” Harry gave a charming smile. “You’d be surprised by how many banned books the Hogwarts library has. If you tried hard enough to get to them, that is.”

Pansy grumbled, slouching forward in a rare act of resignation. “I can’t believe this. You could have gotten expelled! _All_ of you could have been expelled! What were you thinking!?”

Harry once again flashed that utterly _infuriating_ grin. “They wouldn’t expel me. I’m the Boy-Who-Lived! At most, I was risking detention. Can you imagine the public backlash if they snapped my wand over a _prank_?” He chortled.

“A prank? Was that really what this was about?” Pansy asked. Daphne was almost impressed by the Parkinson heiress’s unusual display of clarity. She would sooner eat a Quaffle than trust Potter to not have a motivation behind each and every one of his actions, but she didn’t think that any of the others realized.

“Well he’s not going to _read_ it,” Draco interjected, brows scrunching up in annoyance. “Soul magic is one of the most obscure and difficult to understand in the _world_ , and this book is ‘advanced’! I doubt the professors could even comprehend half the concepts in here.”

“So are you going to _keep_ it?” Pansy pushed on nonetheless, with a tenseness that Daphne felt echoed within herself, though for vastly different reasons.

Daphne knew that should anyone find the book in Slytherin, Potter would be the last person they’d suspect. Even if the boy outright admitted to taking it from the restricted section, the blame would probably still find its way onto one of the other Pureblood’s heads. Then, in addition to being in possession of a banned book, they would also be accused of corrupting the Boy-Who-Lived. Pansy, who came from a predominantly dark family, would probably place at the top of the suspect list along with Draco and Theodore. The repercussions that would have on not only the Purebloods, but the Slytherin House as a whole, would be horrendous.

But Daphne wasn’t in the least bit perturbed about others finding out. As far as she was concerned, Potter was far too clever and manipulative to get caught with anything. What she was worried about was what Potter was planning on doing with that knowledge. 

It was no secret that Potter was a closet prodigy, but the others didn’t seem to realize exactly to _what extent_.

He may only appear above average in classes, but his true intelligence shone through during more intellectual discussions where he actually seemed interested by the topic. Daphne hadn’t a doubt in the world that Potter will have fully memorized the entirety of the book, if not by the end of the first year, then by the middle of the second.

Daphne will be damned if she allows herself to underestimate Harry Potter.

“Of course he’s going to keep it!” Draco blurted out, passionately brandishing his fork. “After all that we went through to get it, are you telling him to _sneak it back_!?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Pansy hissed, eyes narrowing. She leaned forward until she was half standing. “Slytherin can’t afford to take the fall should _anyone_ discover it, and you bloody well know it!”

“Hold your hippogriffs,” Blaise muttered. “When did _you_ replace Snape as Head of House?”

Draco seemed on the edge of protesting, but Potter spoke before he can utter another word. “It serves the same purpose whether be it gathering dust in the library or gathering dust in my trunk. Besides,” he hummed. It was a soft, disturbing sound. “I doubt anyone other than a true Hufflepuff incarnate would be able to get far enough to find it.”

“Show off,” Draco glared, his lips tugging upwards despite himself.

“Then you better hope you’re as good as you say, _Saviour_ ,” Pansy sniped, sounding miffed. Nevertheless, she backed off.

A sudden shrill cry turned nearly every head in the Great Hall towards the upper windows.

The owl that entered was a dusky teal that bordered on black with white specks. Its feathers had a soft sheen to them that complimented its bright yellow eyes. Altogether, it was quite the distinctive bird.

None of the Purebloods nor the more traditional half-bloods were surprised when it landed directly in front of Daphne and struck out its leg. The Greengrass family was known for its teal owls. Anyone lucky enough to have received invitations to their lavish gatherings or their fancy semi-annual soirees could probably recognize a Greengrass owl on sight. 

Naturally, so did the group of Slytherin first years.

The bird was Daphne’s mother’s, and it has been her companion since her school days. Daphne reached out a hand and undid the ribbon fastening two heavy envelopes on its legs.

“Good boy, Egnes,” she fed it a piece of the meatloaf. “Why don’t you rest at the Owlery? Making a day trip must have been tiring.”

Egnes gave a soft cluck before taking flight for the West Towers, its wings brushing against Daphne’s cheek and it took off.

“Is that from your mother?” Theodore peeked over his goblet at the two letters.

Daphne took the heavier envelope and slipped it into her robes, then regarded the second with a mixed expression. “Well, one of them is.”

A part of her wondered if she had made the right decision, but she had to be _sure_. It was too late to back out now, anyway.

Draco paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

Daphne let out a soft exhale and, to everyone’s surprise, handed the thin, velvety envelope to Potter. She watched with guarded eyes as the raven finally reached out and took it, green eyes boring down into the cursive letters with a stunning intensity.

“Heir Harry James Potter,” he read, voice deceptively soft. With great concentration, he opened the flap on the envelope and took out its contents. The rest of the group waited in curious silence as he read. His eyes were unreadable at first, then he suddenly broke into a wolfish grin.

“What is it?” Draco asked impatiently, evidently irritated by the growing suspense.

Daphne was the one that answered. “It’s an invitation to the Greengrass family’s Samhain after-feast. The invites are traditionally sent to the Lord or Lady of the family, but considering Harry is the sole heir to the House of Potter, this could be deemed as the next most appropriate approach.”

“Samhain invite!?” Pansy was the first to react. Her eyes grew wide.

“You’re inviting a _half-blood_!?” Draco gasped, then shot a quick glance at Harry. “Er-sorry, no offence. It’s nothing personal, but-” He swallowed, then turned back to Daphne. “It’s just not done!”

Blaise scoffed. “Blimey, Draco. I’m sure that was not offensive _at all_ ,” his lips twitched. “Anyhow, it’s not a _sin_. Harry is the Potter heir! If there’s any half-blood worthy of an invite, it’d be him.”

“You’re inviting _Harry Potter_ to a _Samhain_ gathering!? Have you gone mad?” Pansy shared an incredulous glance with the Malfoy heir. Both of them looked positively shaken.

“It’s not like the Malfoys never invited half-bloods to their gatherings,” Theodore added pointedly.

Draco gapped. “That was _once_! And during my grandfather’s time! Why would _you_ know about that, I have no idea. And that was for the Summer Solstice! It was nowhere near as important as the Samhain event.”

“Well, I never!” Pansy _tsked_ , eyeing the envelope in Potter’s hands.

Daphne fought the urge to sigh. She had expected such reactions from her friends, but she wasn’t in the mood to explain her actions to them. With how Potter has them wrapped so tightly around his little finger, they’d probably never understand her reasoning anyways.

“Why _are_ you inviting Potter?” Theodore turned from the sputtering Draco, focusing his attention on Daphne. “I was under the impression that you-” At a warning glance from Daphne, Theodore briefly paused, rearranging his words. “-are not that close with him.”

Daphne smiled thinly, but her mask of distant politeness wasn’t quite able to hide the tenseness to her frame. “My parents and grandparents are curious about my new acquaintance. It also helps that he’s the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“Practically a celebrity,” Pansy jeered, taking on a remarkable semblance to Snape.

“I try,” Harry nodded humbly, the effect only slightly ruined by his lopsided grin. 

Pansy sneered disgustedly in response.

“The _point_ is,” Daphne interrupted. “My family and I, as well, would be happy to welcome you to our home this Samhain. It’s more of a large scale, formal gathering than anything else, but it’ll put you in the same room as everyone of importance in the wizarding world. So there’s that.”

“We will also be there,” Blaise promised.

Harry regarded Daphne for a drawn-out moment before giving a slow nod, his smile widening. “Then I’ll be honoured to attend.”

Daphne didn’t like the knowing glint in his eyes nor the wholly confident slouch of his body. In fact, she even felt a jolt of apprehension when their gaze connected.

But maybe she was just reading too much into it.

Potter couldn’t _possibly_ be that observant, could he?

_Merlin_ , Daphne took a deep breath. _This is insanity_.

Nearly everything about the Potter heir was an unknown, and so far, everything she had gleaned from their interactions has been setting off alarms within her mind. Sometimes she found it difficult to believe that he was a kid the same age as her.

“Good,” she forced out. “We’ll be expecting you the day after Samhain. The details are all there.” She gestured towards the letter.

“Good,” Potter echoed, and by the amused tug at his lips, she knew it had been intentional. “Well, I’ll be off now. Cheers.”

“Where are you going? You haven’t eaten dinner yet!” Draco protested.

Potter peered back towards them with mirthful eyes. “Why? Will you miss me?”

While Draco stuttered, he gave a sharp laugh and waved. “I’ll see you all back in the Common Room. I’ve still got some new people to meet.”

Daphne watched as he cheerfully strolled over and seated himself at the Hufflepuff table with the other first years, going through the introductions while they stared back with stunned faces.

“See?” Blaise tilted his head, a triumphant lift to his eyes. “I said this would happen.”

“So you did,” Draco said drily. “To be honest, I haven’t a clue what he’s trying to accomplish. The other Houses will never accept him simply on the grounds that he’s a Snake.”

Daphne begged to differ.

_He is also the Boy-Who-Lived_ , she wanted to say. _He is also their hero_.

“The Claws liked him well enough,” Blaise argued. “And the Gryffindors weren’t screaming bloody murder by the time he left. I’d say that was an accomplishment in itself.”

“Salazar knows how he even convinced the Hat to put him in Slytherin,” Pansy’s lips curled distastefully. “Should’ve placed him in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor and be done with it.”

Daphne hid a wry smile behind her goblet. It was almost sad how dense the rest of her friends were; Potter wasn’t even trying to cover up who he really was. They simply only chose to see one side to his personality.

At the reminder, she once again felt the weight of her mother’s letter in her pocket. It took every ounce of her self-restraint to not leave for the Common Room right then and tear into the thick envelope. No, there would be more than enough time later.

Subconsciously, her eyes glided back to the cackling form of Harry Potter. The Hufflepuffs were leaning in, enthralled by his words and expressive gestures.

The letter seemed to grow heavier where she had tucked it against her side.

_Not now_ , she thought, tearing her eyes away. _Not now_.

 

 

* * *

 

“Well? What are you all waiting for?” Madam Hooch snapped, a hawkish look to her cropped short grey hair and glinting yellow eyes.

Neville Longbottom peered down at the seemingly harmless broomstick lying before him and swallowed audibly.

The first years were having their first flying lesson, and Neville had never been more bitter at the fact that the Gryffindors shared classes with the Slytherins than he was at that moment. How could anything _possibly_ be worse than completely embarrassing himself in front of a den of snakes? The Gryffs were already on his case as a result of his ‘timidness’; he didn’t need scathing remarks from the Slytherins to make it even more unbearable.

A part of him wished he had just caved into the Sorting Hat’s suggestions when it had told him he’d do best in Hufflepuff. But, as it was, he didn’t want to suffer his grandmother’s cold wrath should he be placed in anywhere but Gryffindor, therefore he had fought.

And succeeded.

But now, he understood why the hat had been hesitant to place him with the lions. Compared with the rest of them, he was lacking. He didn’t have the Weasley’s seemingly inherent bluntness, nor Finnigan’s easy self-confidence, nor Lee Jordan’s natural bravery. Even Hermione Granger, who was _obviously_ a Ravenclaw, seemed to belong more than him with her sharp tongue and unwavering beliefs.

Neville, now, was a complete outsider.

He was mediocre at academics, socially awkward, and to top it off, had a completely unfounded fear of strangers. Yet, despite the Hat’s words, he had still persistently insisted on Gryffindor.

At the moment, he was standing near the back of the group of students, head down and trying to curl into himself. The next six years were starting to look quite bleak.

He slipped his shaking hands into his pockets and fingered the Remembrall he’d received from his Gran earlier that morning. Despite being utterly useless, since he was _always_ forgetting something, it was nonetheless comforting to have something that reminded him of his only close relative.

“We haven’t got all day!” Madam Hooch barked, tapping the back of her broom against the ground twice. “Come on, now! Pick a broom, hold out your dominant hand, and say ‘Up!’”

The first to comply was naturally _Draco Malfoy_. As expected, the broom leaped into his open hands. Neville lowered his head further when the blonde stared up with gloating eyes.

But to his surprise, _Harry Potter_ , the Boy-Who-Lived, had just as easily commanded his broom up into his grasp. And that wasn’t all. The raven held it with more natural grace than even _Malfoy_ , and that was saying something.

Neville felt a brief surge of shame.

Even Harry, who, if rumours were to be believed, was raised in the muggle world, seemed to have an easier time fitting in than him.

He took one last glance at the strange pair, Malfoy exclaiming excitedly while Harry simply stood there and smiled, before turning back to his own broom with renewed resolution.

It was just a broomstick. Nothing too difficult.

This wasn’t duelling, or potion brewing, or spell casting. All he had to do was say a simple word. Neville gulped, clenched his fists, then put his right arm out over his broom.

“Up!” He enunciated with conviction. It was the loudest he’s spoken in _weeks_.

And-

Nothing.

The broom laid still on the grass.

Not so much as a twitch.

If not for the faded _Comet 260_ etched into the worn handles of the broomstick, Neville might have thought that he’d been pranked and given a muggle’s broom.

“Up!” He tried again.

The broom still was unmoved.

A pang of frustration ran through him. Gran was right, he couldn’t do anything right. His arm tensed as he fought to keep his hands from trembling. Over half the class had already gotten their broomsticks up by that point. Yet he, the Pureblood heir to the Longbottom family, was still struggling.

“Up!” He repeated, this time was softer than the other two. 

He wasn’t even surprised when the broom remained unresponsive.

“You’ve got to own it,” a voice spoke up from beside him.

Neville jumped, hand flying to his chest and swirling around. He found himself caught in the brightest, deepest pair of green eyes he had ever seen in his life. The slender scar took another moment to sink in, but when it did, he was sure he paled even further.

“Sorry about that!” Harry- _Harry freaking Potter_ -laughed and smiled _at him_. The sound of his voice had a chime-like quality to it. 

Neville fumbled, his mouth opening but no words coming out.

“Are you alright?” Harry’s brow furrowed. “Ah, I seemed to be saying that to people a lot lately. Maybe I should stop sneaking up on everyone.”

Neville managed a shaky smile.

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry held out a hand, his broom held loosely under his other arm.

Neville took the hand and gave it an awkward shake, but Harry’s grasp prevented him from letting his hand drop barely a second into the gesture.

“And you are?” The green-eyed boy prompted, wearing the same friendly smile Neville had seen him direct at Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas earlier in the day.

“N-Nevile Longbottom,” Neville finally managed after clearing his throat.

“Wonderful to meet you,” Harry gave his hand a few firm pumps before allowing him to pull away. “I apologize for being nosy, but you looked like you were having trouble. I only wanted to help.”

Neville found himself stiffening up at the words. Someone actually wanted to help _him_. And that someone was the celebrated Harry Potter, no less. He rapidly blinked the moisture from his eyes and gave a much more genuine smile this time. 

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Harry seemed to treat everyone equally, whether they be Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, or even the _professors_. People swarmed to him like moths drawn to a flame. They basked in his unchanging smile and easy-going attitude. At that moment, Neville finally understood why.

It was almost addictive, being treated just like everyone else.

He felt a sense of belonging that he never had before.

“Try again,” Harry motioned towards the broomstick. “Think of it as a tool. Are you afraid of your wand? No, right? So why should you be afraid of a broom? Both are sentient magical objects, but they will respond to your magic.” He gave him another toothy smile and patted him on the back. “Remember: you have to _own_ it.”

And with that he was gone, strolling back to his friends in Slytherin who made room for him as if he had been a constant presence in their lives. Neville watched his retreating figure for a moment before turning his eyes back to his broom. He placed his right arm over it.

_Own it_.

“Up!” He called, and this time, the broomstick twitched, before wobbling up and falling clumsily into his hands.

Neville felt a surge of accomplishment. He looked up, only to see Harry beaming back at him, holding a hand up in the classical thumbs-up gesture. For the first time since he’s arrived at Hogwarts, he felt a wave of warmth wash over him.

However, his brief respite from anxiety was destroyed when Madam Hooch instructed them on the basic gripping position and riding postures. Simply imagining his own feet dangling some twenty metres in the air was enough to fill him from head to toe with an icy fear.

Naturally, it only went downhill from that point on.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, _hard_ ,” Madam Hooch said with finality, with no room for objections. Neville nearly staggered where he stood. “Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet, then come back down _slowly_ by leaning slightly forwards.”

Neville tried to stabilize his breathing, focusing instead on the small group of Slytherins across the field. Malfoy was stood in a perfect flying position, smirking as he said something to Harry. Harry threw his head back and laughed openly, mussing up his already windblown hair.

“Own it,” Neville repeated to himself but feeling no change to his erratic heartbeat. “Own it. Remember, own it.”

“On my whistle!” Madam Hooch tensed, sharp eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Three-two-”

Before he even registered what his own body was doing, Neville was already off the ground. He was aware of the field falling further and further away beneath his feet. He could feel the wide-eyed stares of his fellow students and the sound of the wind in his ears and-and-

_Own it_.

“But I can’t!” He blurted out loud.

A quiet whimper escaped his lips as his broomstick tottered.

“Come down here, boy!” Madam Hooch’s shouts were distant.

_How far up was he?_

_If he fell, would he survive?_

Then, when he nearly aligned with one of the shorter towers of the castle, he felt himself slipping away. The broomstick suddenly grew slick within his grasp and time itself seemed to slow down as he felt the last of his fingers leave the tilting broom.

“Longbottom!” Madam Hooch’s shrill yell was the only thing he heard before he was airborne.

He slammed his eyes shut, unwilling to take any more of the world spinning around him.

When he was nearly certain that he was going to die, a hand was suddenly at his upper arms and pulling him up. The sudden tug brought a horrible lurch to the pits of his stomach and a painful jolt to his shoulders. But there was no longer the wind. He was falling slower now, anchored to safety by the tight grasp on his arm.

Only after his feet had touched solid ground did the hold on his arm disappear. As soon as it had gone, he was kneeling on the floor, breathing harshly through his nose. There was a rise in noise around him but he tuned them out.

He felt the grass beneath his hands and his weight firmly held by the earth and he let out a shuddering breath.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself staring right into Madam Hooch’s unimpressed face.

“Well, boy,” she tutted. “I guess we can fairly say that Quidditch won’t be the sport for you. You’re lucky Mr. Potter reacted when he did, or else you could be a splat on the ground right now for all we know.”

Neville’s eyes widened and darted further back to where Harry was standing, leaning lazily against his broom.

“H-Harry saved me?” He confirmed. Malfoy and Zabini made a guttural sound of annoyance, probably at his casual address of their friend. But Neville had never understood the traditions that they followed so religiously in Slytherin. Besides, it seemed _wrong_ to call Harry as simply ‘ _Potter_ ’. It felt too impersonal, too distant, for a boy that was so radiant and so completely filled with kindness.

Neville wouldn’t sooner call him ‘Potter’ than he would call Malfoy ‘Draco’. For him, after the moment when the black haired boy freely offered his help and smiled so easily at him, he could only ever be _Harry_.

“Rescue,” Harry mused, tapping his finger against his chin. “Does that make me a hero?”

“Piss off,” Malfoy muttered. Blaise must have said something equally inappropriate for Madam Hooch twirled around and glared at the two Slytherins.

“Language, boys!” After ensuring that they had settled down, she turned back to Neville. “Essentially, yes. Now,you might have a sprained shoulder at the _very_ worst. But before there was no way of predicting how everything might have unfolded. Now, why don’t you head to the Hospital Wing for a checkup? You look like you could use a Calming Drought or two.”

“Yes, Madam Hooch,” Neville mumbled, slowly shirking back after being unable to meet the yellow eyes head on. “I’ll head over right now.”

He ducked his head and walked quickly across the field, ignoring the occasional giggles from the other first years. The only time he paused was when he passed Harry Potter, who was standing in the same relaxed pose as when the lesson had begun.

“Thank you,” Neville told him sincerely.

Harry smiled back, expression completely free of judgement or any sort of malice. That was the first time that Neville realized that no matter what he did or how he acted, Harry would always look at him the same way, just as he looked at everyone else. It was an exhilarating, liberating feeling-to know that someone’s opinion of him would never waver. 

“Take care,” Harry gave him a quick nod before turning his attention back to Zabini and laughing at some joke he had just told.

The two words were enough to bring a small smile to Neville’s face and he turned, leaving the field for the halls that led to the Hospital Wing. As he trudged down the paved stone path, he felt, for the first time since he’s stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express, the weight of the other students’ opinions lift entirely. He was free from the expectations and the judgements and the cruelness of his classmates.

He was free.

And it was all thanks to _Harry_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Chapter 5 finished! Now we're finally getting somewhere. Halloween (or should I say Samhain) is drawing close and the pace is about to pick up!
> 
> Next chapter, Harry becomes curious about the 'Forbidden Third Floor Corridors'! And when Harry's curiosity is piqued, nothing ever ends well...


	6. Samhain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally Samhain at Hogwarts.
> 
> Harry attends Charms lessons, plots, and learns of a secret hidden within the forbidden Third Floor Corridors...
> 
> And Harry never backs down from a challenge.

Halloween, or more accurately, _Samhain_ , was a rather big deal in the wizarding world. 

It even showed in the breakfast display. There was an assortment of cakes and sweets, plates of pudding and pumpkin mousse, and towering stacks of pastries. Platters of fudge, candied apples, toffee, and freshly made caramels were also spread across the table, charmed to refill itself whenever more than half had been taken. There was even _Parisian flan_.

However, at the moment, Draco paid the desserts no mind. He was staring ruefully across the room instead, eyeing the Gryffindor table with a mix of disdain and envy.

“I know he doesn’t care about ‘ _houses and all that nonsense_ ,’” Draco muttered, fiddling with the unused fork in his hands. “But it’s Samhain. Why, for the love of Merlin, couldn’t he have sat with us _just for today_ …”

Blaise mumbled his agreement, gazing in the same direction. There, at the middle of the red and gold table and in the very heart of the crowd of Gryffindors, sat Harry Potter, jarringly obvious in his attire of green and silver.

Draco didn’t understand how he did it. He _couldn’t_ comprehend it. For all his cunning, cleverness, and Slytheriness, Harry was still welcomed into the house of the lions with open arms. 

And it wasn’t only them.

Every house practically _rippled_ with excitement and joy whenever Potter deigned to grace them with his presence. Draco couldn’t deny that the Slytherins were any different, but they had every right since Potter was one of them. So how was it that the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors also accepted him with such ease? They looked upon him with none of the suspicion or wariness with which they peered at all other members of the Slytherin house.

Between classes, Ravenclaws would flock to him to continue a cut-off discussion on some obscure theory or another. Hufflepuffs would stop by the table at which he studied to bring him plates of snacks, mugs of tea, or simply to ask about his day. Gryffindors would banter easily with him in the halls, and they would never appear offended or disgruntled, even when they fall victim to Potter’s sharp tongue and quick wits.

Once, Draco had even heard a second-year Gryffindor girl confiding to her Hufflepuff sister than “Harry is possibly the sweetest boy in all of the world, and the only decent Slytherin in Hogwarts”. That had been an eye-opening moment in which he realized that- _no_ , the other houses weren’t simply _putting up_ with Potter. They actually _liked_ him.

Draco had almost laughed out loud. A popular Slytherin. That was nearly an oxymoron.

But right then, he found nothing humorous about the situation.

It was Samhain, the arguably most magically significant time of the year, the day which most Pureblood families, Draco’s included, treated with solemnity and respect, and Harry Potter were spending it socializing with Gryffindors. Draco was practically oozing irritation, and he wasn’t the only one. 

The constipated expression on Blaise’s expression was telling enough. Theodore was harder to read, but his movements were stiffer than usual and there was a heaviness to his silence. Pansy was a mix of annoyed and smug, probably at the fact that Potter chose Gryffindor over them and that she wouldn’t have to be bothered with him the entire morning, respectively. The other first years weren’t faring any better.

Potter’s presence was one that they all enjoyed, and one that they had expected to be present throughout at least Samhain. They were all proven wrong.

Of all the Slytherins, only the upper years and, unsurprisingly, Daphne, appeared to be unaffected by Potter’s absence.

That was understandable since the fifth and seventh years had to focus on preparing for their exams, while the rest rarely had a chance at meeting the first years. Daphne, over the course of the past week, seemed to have become increasingly apathetic in all matters concerning the Potter heir. Draco often wondered what had happened between the two.

“Oh, _do_ stop sulking,” Daphne rolled her eyes, drawing Draco’s attention.

Blaise voiced a protest but was soon drowned out by the Greengrass heiress’s unwavering voice.

“He’ll sit with us for supper. Happy?”

“He will?” Draco echoed, perking up. “Did he say that?”

“If you bothered _listening_ ,” Daphne sighed. “He said he will ‘see us tonight’. Besides, it’s only a meal. What’s the big deal? You’re all acting like boys with a crush. It’s frankly embarrassing to watch.”

“It’s only a meal?” Blaise fumed, completely ignoring the latter part of her sentence. “Are you hearing yourself, Daph? It’s Samhain- _Samhain_! How could Potter sit with the Gryffindors on Samhain!?”

“It’s not like he’s breaking any traditions,” Daphne shrugged, setting down her cutlery. Of their group, she was the only one whose breakfast was more than half eaten.

“Unlike yourself, with your evening party tomorrow,” Pansy sniped, skewering a strawberry on her fork. Despite no longer complaining, she still made her displeasure at Potter’s invitation very clear.

Blaise huffed, putting aside his fork and knife as well. His plate of scrambled eggs and scones was barely touched. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Pansy levelled him with one of her more venomous glares. “Shut it, Zabini. It’s none of your business.”

“He’s our friend,” Blaise glowered. “So I’d say, yes, it is our business. _Parkinson_.”

“He is a _mixed_ blood and a disgrace. His mother is a _mudblood_ for Salazar’s sake and he’s not much better. I can’t, for the life of me, see what you see in him.”

The two glared at each other before a sudden _thunk_ had them all jolting in their seats. Theodore looked up dispassionately from where he had dropped the thick tome he was reading onto the table.

“Arguing about that now is a waste of time. Charms is in an hour and we’re learning to levitate. I would suggest being prepared.”

With that, the short boy stood and gathered his books into his bag. Draco and the rest watched in stunned silence as Theodore packed up and stomped out the Great Hall, not even bothering to say another word.

“I’ve never seen Theodore get angry before,” Daphne remarked.

Draco released a breath that he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. He’s rarely seen the Nott heir angry, either. Theodore was more of the ‘brew in sullen silence’ type rather than the ‘slam a book on the table then leave’ sort. He guessed Pansy’s harsh words must have crossed a line. If Theodore hadn’t intervened when he did, Draco was sure that he himself would’ve done something more drastic.

“Congratulations,” Blaise told Pansy drily. “You’ve managed to offend even Theodore. Nice to know that he wasn’t immune to your propensity to piss others off.”

A flash of hurt crossed the Parkinson heiress’s eyes but she quickly hid it behind her haughty Slytherin mask. Draco almost felt bad for her, until he remembered her comments.

“Theo’s right. It is a waste of time,” Draco glanced meaningfully at Pansy and took vicious delight at the way she visibly wilted. Serves her right. He dropped his fork onto his plate. The other girl flinched at the clatter of steel against glass, but she was the next in line to inherit the Parkinson family Ladyship, and that came with a certain type of training.

Pansy jutted out her chin defiantly. “You all know that I only spoke the truth.” The glint of betrayal in her dark eyes was well concealed.

“Come on,” Draco nudged Blaise. “Let’s get to Charms. Theodore’s probably already there.”

The two of them stood and walked off. Draco’s eyes swept past the Gryffindor table and he caught a short glimpse of Potter amidst the other first years, green eyes alight with laughter and a wide grin splitting his face. 

He had no idea when it had first happened, but now, seeking out Potter in a large crowd seemed to have become the most natural thing to do. There was just something about him that made all those around him acutely aware of his presence in a room.

It was dangerous, how Potter’s quick smile and rare compliments filled him so easily with a sense of validation and ease. It _would_ have been dangerous, had Draco not been sure that even Potter didn’t fully know the effect that he had on others. 

“Draco?”

Draco startled.

Blaise held up a textbook questioningly. “Charms?”

Draco shook the stray thoughts from his mind and nodded. “Charms.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Ten points to Slytherin!” Professor Flitwick squealed in delight when Harry Potter’s feather swirled upwards towards the ceiling as if caught up in a mini vortex of wind. “Wonderful! Wonderful! And so soon into the lesson, too. Why, I didn't even have to demonstrate! You’ll make a talented wizard, Mr. Potter!”

“That was brilliant, Harry! How’d you do that?” Seamus Finnegan peered over from his table behind Harry’s.

He wasn’t the only one. The other Gryffindors openly gaped at him, mostly in admiration. 

Even Hermione Granger wasn’t exempt, though her stare of reluctant approval was also mixed with a tinge of bitter frustration. 

Of course, she has read about Harry James Potter, prophesied child and defeater of the Dark Lord. Only…he was very different from her expectations.

But the truth was, even she herself didn’t quite remember how she had envisioned the Boy-Who-Lived prior to actually meeting him. The moment she first laid eyes on him during the ceremony, whatever blurry figure her imagination had produced had gone straight out the window. It was impossible to picture him any other way.

There was an overwhelming intensity to him that drew the eyes of the others, easily gaining him their favour and respect. Yes, Hermione would admit that she envied him. She envied his easy charms, she envied his magnetic smile, and she envied the way other students so eagerly flocked to him, despite him being a Slytherin.

That had shocked her just as much as it had all the others. 

After all, ever since the day she received her letter, she has been flipping through as many books as time would allow. The general consensus has always been that Harry Potter, practically born a hero, was destined for Gryffindor, the house of the brave and righteous. In fact, the reason why Hermione had refuted the Sorting Hat’s initial decision to put her into Ravenclaw was because she yearned to be one of those courageous and well-loved Gryffindors that books depicted. 

She has already lived her entire life being ostracized because of her bookishness, and she didn’t want to spend the next seven years in the same manner in Ravenclaw.

So why was it that she was still an outcast?

It wasn’t _fair_.

She was a Gryffindor, she worked hard in class, and she earned house points, and yet she was still an outsider to them. Harry Potter was in Slytherin for _goodness’s sake_ , he has already lost countless points for his house through handing in classwork late and messing around in class, and _still,_  people laughed good-naturedly at his antics and sought out his company at every possible opportunity.

As for Hermione…The Ravenclaws were always irritated by her knowledge, the Hufflepuffs were intimidated by her, and the blood-purist Slytherins hated her from the start because of her _parentage_ , of all things. Even her own House rejected her, the boys avoiding her like the plague and the girls whispering meanly behind her back.

But what made Harry so different?

He was in Slytherin-if anything, it should be he, not Hermione, who the others despised. But instead, being a snake somehow made him even _more_ beloved. The Ravenclaws held him in high esteem, the Hufflepuffs loved him, and even the Gryffindors seem to find a kindred spirit in him. 

His popularity with the other Houses didn’t seem to affect his relationships with the other Slytherins, either. On most days, he was flanked by Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott, or by Miles Bletchley, a _third year_. The other snakes all admired him as well, despite his title as the symbol of the Light side.

Hermione was beyond frustrated. It simply wasn’t fair.

Yes, she envied Harry, but she never thought that she would envy Harry for his cleverness.

But right then, as she stared down at her own unmoving feather, she found herself proven wrong. How had he done it?

It was _unfair_. Obviously, he’s had more experience with magic. Harry Potter was probably raised by some powerful family and has been taught magic long before Hermione even knew that she was a witch. That was the only possible explanation for it.

If she was raised in the magical world, she hadn't a doubt that she would have completed the spell much faster than him.

After all, her grades have managed to stay atop the scoreboard for every class. It was only during the practical lessons where Harry Potter was able to so easily beat her.

“She’s staring at you again,” Theodore Nott mumbled next to Harry. 

His voice shook Hermione from her frenzied thoughts. They were sitting close enough for her to catch every word they were saying, despite the relatively low volume.

“Probably couldn’t fathom how anyone could be better than her,” Blaise snorted.

“As if there’s any doubt that Potter’s the uncontested first in our year,” Draco’s eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with derision.

With a start, Hermione realized that they were talking about _her_. She felt a wave of embarrassment and resentment rise up within her. Why couldn’t they just mind their own business? 

It wasn't as if she was the only one staring-Harry attracted attention wherever he went.

Harry laughed, releasing his spell on the feather and letting it drift back onto the table. The sound drew curious side glances from the other students and a fond smile from Professor Flitwick.

Hermione ducked her head to avoid meeting his eyes. It was already bad enough that his friends had caught her while she had been so blatantly staring at him. 

“What’s so funny?” Hermione heard Draco ask impatiently, poking his feather with his wand. She peeked from the corner of her eyes to see the other boy’s reaction.

Harry shook his head mirthfully, sitting back and slipping his wand back into the folds of his robes. “You’re both getting better grades than me-how is it that _I_ am the best in the year?”

Oh.

That was surprising.

Each student only knew their own standing within the year, so up until that moment, Hermione has assumed that Harry was placed second behind her. But apparently, he wasn’t. It caused a mixture of disappointment and frustration to well up within her. Being the only one to beat _Harry Potter_ seemed special, somehow, but now, that had been taken away from her.

Blaise and Draco exchanged mournful glances. The darker haired boy slumped in his seat. “If you actually _finish_ the assignments, I’m certain you’d never drop from the top spot.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. Naturally,  _Harry Potter_ would leave his homework undone simply because he can, and because he thought himself so much better than everyone else.

“I finish my assignments,” Harry defended, sounding insulted.

“Never on time, though,” Draco pointed out, flicking his wand and glaring balefully at the unmoving feather.

“You get perfect on all your exams and practicals,” Blaise added. “And I’ve never seen you actually study.”

Hermione visibly stiffened. In order to keep her place as the first in the year, she had to spend hours every night reviewing her class notes and making sure that every assignment was absolutely perfect. How was it possible for Harry to do practically nothing and still perform so well?

“Me neither. It’s a miracle, really,” Draco nodded thoughtfully. “If not for the late-hand-in deductions, I’m sure you’d be getting straight O’s.”

“I’m just not very good with deadlines,” Harry shrugged. “Besides, I’m fine with A’s and the occasional O.” 

Hermione’s brow twitched in irritation.

Draco scoffed disbelievingly as if finding it incomprehensible how someone could _possibly_ be content with A’s. For once Hermione found herself sharing the blonde’s opinion. “That talent is wasted on you,” he muttered, before trying the spell again. His enunciation was perfect and only his wand position was slightly off. And so, the feather only twitched. The Malfoy heir growled in frustration, raising his wand for another attempt.

It was at that moment that Hermione saw it. 

Draco had just finished his incantations and was flicking his wand when Harry made a vague gesture towards the direction of Malfoy’s feather. Hermione found herself meeting Harry’s eyes for the briefest moment and by the upward lift of his smile, she knew that he had caught her watching. The raven-haired boy grinned when the feather floated upwards, causing Malfoy to yelp in shock and almost drop his wand.

“Well done, Mr. Malfoy! Another five points for Slytherin!” Mr. Flickwick tittered, and now it was the Malfoy heir’s turn to fall under the scrutiny of the class. However, this time around there were many more glares and less excited whisperings.

Hermione felt something twist within her. 

“ _What_!?” She spun around in her seat, frizzy hair flinging over her shoulder like an angry halo.

The charms professor had just given points to _Malfoy_ for what obviously had been Harry’s prank. And knowing the Slytherins, they would probably keep it to themselves. Hermione clenched her fist. She couldn’t let this stand.

“Problem, Granger?” Draco sneered. By this point Professor Flitwick has already moved on to the other tables, checking and correcting wrist movements and incantations.

“You’re a liar and a cheat,” Hermione accused, eyes briefly flickering to Harry. The other boy had his head lowered and was scribbling along a length of parchment, seemingly ignoring the fight that was about to break out before him. “There’s no way _you_ could’ve cast that spell.”

Hermione was positively fuming, glaring determinedly at the blonde _pureblood_. Maybe the professors won’t punish him for calling her a ‘mudblood’, but she’ll be damned if she lets the self-centered brat get away with this as well.

Draco’s fury, on the other hand, bordered on _glacial_. Hermione figured he wasn’t used to having to compete with a muggleborn over anything, never mind tolerating being openly insulted by one. _Well_ , she thought acidly, _he’d better start adjusting_.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Draco bristled, fingers tightening around his wand.

Harry eyed the exchange with growing amusement, relaxing back into his seat. Hermione felt the last shred of admiration she has for the Boy-Who-Lived dissipate at that moment. Harry Potter was just like all the other Slytherins. How dare he treat her as if she was some circus act.

“You helped!” She turned on Harry, brows scrunching together in anger. They were beginning to attract attention from the rest of the class by that point, but Hermione was determined to see this through.

Harry gave her an innocent, saccharine smile. 

She didn’t buy it.

“Potter doesn’t even have his wand. You should stop throwing around those baseless accusations and know your own position,” Blaise cut in bluntly, causing the bushy-haired girl to blush a furious red.

“But- but he-” she stammered.

That’s right. Harry _had_ put his wand away earlier. But she was certain that he was the one who had levitated Draco’s feather. 

Unless…Hermione forced the thought away. It was impossible. Hero and genius or not, Harry was still eleven. He couldn’t possibly be capable of _wandless magic_. She had chanced upon that term in one of her lighter readings, but after discovering that it was notorious for its difficulty, she had decided to leave it off for her later Hogwarts years.

The main point was, there was no way that Harry was capable of such a feat-not at that age, at least. But how else could he have done it?

“What seems to be the problem here?” Professor Flitwick finally seemed to have noticed the commotion. He walked over, worriedly taking in the scene of a red-faced Hermione facing off against two scowling Slytherin boys.

“Granger called me a cheater,” Draco snarled.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest. But…that was exactly what she had done. And now, there was no way to prove it.

Professor Flitwick’s expression fell as he closely studied the two. “And what exactly did Mr. Malfoy _cheat_ in?”

“She said Potter did the levitation charm for him,” Blaise answered.

“Which is absolute codswallop,” Pansy Parkinson chimed in eagerly from where she sat a few seats away. “Considering that Potter had put his wand away right after he did his own spell.”

Hermione blinked. Even Harry’s brows rose in surprise. Evidently, he hadn’t expected any help from the Parkinson heiress, with how openly she expressed her disapproval of him. But it seemed that even her dislike of him was trumped by being able to get an upper hand on Hermione. At the moment she was sneering smugly, no doubt taking great amusement from the dazed expression on the other girl’s face.

“Is it true?” Professor Flitwick asked solemnly, turning to look at Harry, Draco, and Hermione.

Hermione trembled. She wanted to say something, _anything_ , to defend herself. She _had_ seen them cheat. She still believed that they did. It was glaringly obvious that Harry had been the one who cast the spell and not Draco, but would Professor Flitwick listen? Should she risk telling the truth?

The decision was taken away from her when Harry began to speak.

“I’ve been working on my write up on the applications of the spell,” Harry motioned to his half-filled parchment. “I figured I wouldn’t need magic for an essay, so I haven’t touched my wand since the beginning of the class. So if anyone helped Draco with the charm, it wasn’t me.” He grinned mischievously in response to Draco’s scathing look.

“Well?” Professor Flitwick’s eyes darted to Hermione. “What do you have to say for yourself, Ms. Granger?”

“I-I-” She blinked rapidly, hoping to rid her eyes of the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“She’s just jealous that Draco did the spell before her,” Blaise snarked. “No wonder why she hasn’t got any friends.”

Hermione inhaled sharply.

“Mr. Zabini!” Professor Flitwick chided, his beady eyes going wide with shock. “That is uncalled for.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Hermione registered Harry shifting in his seat. His expression, however, was obscured behind his hand.

“Why?” Blaise protested. “She accused Draco of cheating.”

“I think Granger should apologize,” Pansy added. She sounded downright gleeful.

“ _What_?” Hermione hissed and felt something sink in her stomach when the short charms professor turned expectant eyes on her. 

Hot droplets rolled down her cheeks. It took a moment for her to realize that she was crying.

“Ms. Parkinson’s right,” Professor Flitwick decided. “I cannot allow my students to level such serious accusations on each other in my classroom. Mr. Malfoy deserves an apology.”

Hermione clenched her fist tight until her fingers were nearly white. Of course, he wouldn’t believe her. Why would anyone believe her over _Harry Potter_? The injustice of it all caused more tears to well up in her eyes.

Speaking of Harry-

She glanced towards him and the first thing she saw was the uplift of his lips. He looked for all the world as if someone had just told him a particularly amusing joke. There was a glimmer in his eyes that sent an unpleasant chill down her spine.

_Oh_.

How had she missed this? How had _anyone_ missed this?

“Ms. Granger?” Professor Flitwick called out tentatively.

Hermione’s breath hitched as her eyes landed on a smirking Draco. All of a sudden it became too much-the Slytherins’ smug sneers, the several dozens of goggling eyes from the other students, and, worst of all, Professor Flitwick’s disappointed stare. She stood abruptly, ignoring the loud thud of her chair clattering to the ground. Without another word she turned and ran, pushing through the classroom doors and down the halls. 

The castle was a blur around her, and she didn't stop until she was sat in the safe solitude of what appeared to be a bathroom stall. There, she finally let out a sob.

It just wasn’t fair.

She slumped forward and muffled her cries into the folds of her robes. She could still hear the other children's mocking whispers, see their judgemental glances, feel their cruel amusement at her flounderings.

She closed her eyes tight, but somehow it just made things worst. At the core of it all was Harry Potter, smiling without a care in the world.

_It wasn’t fair_.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You’re good, Potter.”

Harry blinked innocently, staring back into Blaise Zabini’s glinting eyes. “What did I do?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a twat. We all know it was you.”

“You’re going to have to less vague,” Harry grinned at his housemates’ annoyance and exasperation, and the other boys let the subject drop.

Lessons had finished for the day and they were making their way to the Great Hall for dinner. It had been an interesting day, to say the least. Whispers of the events that had taken place during Charms had already circulated the school. Harry suppressed a smile when he saw another group of first years trying to discreetly stare at them from around the corner of a nearby corridor.

To be perfectly honest, even Harry didn’t anticipate how Charms would turn out. He had caught on to the Gryffindor girl’s reproachful glares at the beginning of class. Harry knew her as Hermione Granger, a notorious know-it-all and a muggleborn. That was a terrible combination if he’s ever seen one. 

It wasn’t that she was lacking as a witch. If anything, she was one of the more talented first years and has potential in spades. The main issue was her attitude.

It was people like her that gave muggleborns such a bad reputation. She walked around regurgitating lines from textbooks, desperate to prove her worth through her knowledge. But she doesn’t seem to realize that a few months of memorization can never upstage growing up with over a decade of tradition. As if showing off in class wasn’t bad enough, she would often insert herself into the conversation of other’s and give her biased opinion without fully understanding the topic of discussion.

Naturally, that meant that all of the Slytherins, with the exception of Harry, loathed her with a burning hatred. 

Harry simply couldn’t be bothered. Hating someone took _effort_ , and Granger just wasn’t worth it.

But at one point, her obvious eavesdropping began to annoy him. From that point on, all he had to do was lay the trap and watch in contentment as everything played out before him. Really, though, he didn’t have to do all that much.

The choice had been Granger’s entirely.

If she had let things be, then none of the following would have happened. She brought it all upon herself.

“It’s creepy,” Blaise’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“What is?” Harry tilted his head. They were walking down the last flight of stairs before the Great Hall, and he could already hear the muted chatter of the students there.

“The smile you get when you’re lost in thought,” the Zabini heir stated, staring at him pointedly.

“You wound me,” Harry laughed, leaping at the bottom of the stairs when it suddenly shifted beneath him. Draco and Blaise scrambled to get off behind him.

“Doesn’t sound very wounded to me,” Draco muttered drily, patting the dust from his robes.

Harry flashed him another sharp smile as they entered the Great Hall, and his attention was captured by the sheer magnificence of Hogwarts. There were carved pumpkins of various sizes drifting through the charmed ceiling, floating amidst the stars. The lighting had been dimmed and a thin fog licked at their heels as they walked down the aisle. All in all, the Great Hall looked like a scene straight out of one of those Halloween movies that the children at the Adoption Centre loved to watch so much.

“This is blasphemous,” Draco said bitterly. Harry tore his eyes away from the decor and raised a brow at the blonde. 

“This-the pumpkins, the fog, the wails- _everything_ ,” Draco elaborated, audibly grinding his teeth. “It’s Samhain, a _sacred holiday_ , not some make-belief children’s game.”

Harry blinked at the simmering disgust in the Malfoy heir’s eyes. This expression was completely genuine, unlike his usual trademark sneers and smug grins. Harry hasn’t had the time to learn more about Samhain, but judging by the reactions of the other Purebloods, he gathered that the day must be pretty high up on the scale of importance.

“Draco! Blaise!” Daphne waved at them from over at the Slytherin’s table. Her eyes darted to Harry briefly. “Potter.”

Harry gave a wave in return as they strolled over and sat down. Once again, he was reminded of the stark white envelope currently laying on his bedside table. The memory brought a lopsided, amused smile to his lips. 

The moment Daphne had handed him the invitation, Harry had known that there was _something more_ hidden beneath the surface. He would have to be blind to not suspect anything-it wasn’t every day that a seemingly Light-aligned half-blood was invited to a soirée hosted by a Dark Pureblood family. It was likely that the event would be a test of some sort, but for what, Harry still couldn't ascertain. Nevertheless, he could play by Daphne’s rules until then. If nothing else, it was entertaining to see her fumble with the intricacies of deception and manipulation.

That’s right. Harry was content to lie in wait for the moment that she slipped up. That was when he would strike, should the need arise.

At that moment, a sharp snap sounded as steaming plates appeared before them on the table. There were bowls filled to the brim with squash soup, scones and pastries with orange icing, plates of baked vegetables, and slices of turkey and beef.

“Even _dinner_ is pumping themed,” Draco complained. “As if pumpkin juice wasn’t already enough.”

Harry snorted at the blonde’s sour grimace, ladling his plate with chicken pumpkin stew.

“Hey,” Pansy leaned over the table, eyes shining cruelly. “Granger’s not at the Gryffindor table.”

Harry looked up. He had almost forgotten about the Charms incident by that point, but now that the Parkinson heiress had mentioned it, he realized that she was right. Hermione Granger was curiously absent from the crowd of Gryffindors across the room.

“I heard that she is in the girls' toilets, _crying_ ,” a Slytherin girl who Harry didn’t know piped up. She quickly blushed and looked away when their group all raised a collective eyebrow at her eavesdropping.

“That’s weak,” Pansy finally huffed, turning back to regard the Slytherin boys. “I can’t believe she actually did that-call Draco a cheat to his face, I mean. That’s a new low, even for her.”

Harry nonchalantly took a spoonful of stew, as if the matter didn’t concern him at all. 

There was a short pause.

“What happened?” Daphne demanded. Harry noted the sudden tenseness of her posture and the way that her eyes instantly snapped to him. _Interesting_.

“Oh right. You weren’t in Charms, so you wouldn’t know,” Pansy waved dismissively. “Draco beat Granger in casting the Levitation charm today. She accused him of cheating. Professor Flitwick told her to apologize and she ran away crying.”

“It was brilliant,” Blaise sniggered. “Her expression-it was _priceless_.”

Daphne looked dubious as if she couldn’t believe how Harry wasn’t at fault for any incidents that occur within the castle. Harry didn’t blame her.

“What were you doing, anyway?” Draco spoke up, gingerly picking out the pieces of pumpkin from his soup. “It’s not like you to skip.”

Daphne clicked her tongue, obviously offended. “I don’t _skip_. For your information, I was helping with the preparations for the post-Samhain party tonight.” Her eyes flickered to Harry again.

But before any more words could be said, the doors to the Great Hall flew open with a resounding _bang_. A moment of stunned silence passed as the students all turned to face the entrance. There stood a panting Professor Quirrell, eyes widened in fear.

“Troll!” The turbaned professor yelled hoarsely. “Troll in the dungeons! Troll in the dungeons!”

A weightier silence fell this time. Harry could almost feel the rising tension in the air.

“Just thought you ought to know,” Professor Quirrell finished, eyes rolling back and crumbling to the ground.

Chaos followed.

Students were screaming, cutlery was being dropped and goblets were being toppled, everyone was scrambling to get out of their seats, and the pumpkin lanterns were flickering. Even the professors were beginning to show signs of unease.

Harry sat in the middle of it all, silent and thoughtful. Barely a few seconds passed before he had to lower his head to hide a smile.

There were certain perks to always being surrounded by other orphaned children. Harry knew bad acting when he saw it, and Professor Quirrell honestly hadn’t even _tried_. That could only mean that either the man had lied, or he had been the one to let the troll in. And the only reason he would do that would be to create a distraction. A laugh escaped Harry’s lips and he didn’t even have to disguise it in the din of the Great Hall.

A series of explosions-from Dumbledore’s wand, Harry noted-finally caught the attention of enough students for the older wizard to be heard over the clamour. “Prefects!” He called, voice amplified through spellwork. “Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Then the noise escalated again, drowning out all else as students clambered to leave the Great Halls.

“Slytherin dorms are in the dungeons!” Harry heard Draco’s panicked yell. “Dumbledore's cracked! Oh, he’s going to kill us all!” Harry took brief amusement from the blonde’s whimpers before being swept along by the crowd.

“Slytherins, follow me!” Farley, the Slytherin prefect, was struggling to yell over the echoes of steps and agitated chatters.

As they neared the entrance of the Great Hall, Harry wasn’t surprised to see that Professor Quirrell was no longer where he had fallen. Someone grabbed Harry’s arm once they were out in the halls.

“Potter, come on,” Draco gestured brusquely, eyes comedically wide. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“You go on ahead,” Harry easily slid out of the other boy’s grip. “I’ve got to check something first.”

“Potter!” The Malfoy's yell grew distant behind him as he ducked into the crowd.

It was quite easy to slip into an empty corridor while everyone else was so focused on escaping. Harry considered his options before deciding to take the more common route that would lead to the dungeons. He knew that the prefects were taking a roundabout way in hopes of minimizing their chances of encountering the troll. But there’s bound to be a reason behind Quirrell’s actions, and the only path that would be entirely cleared after his words was the hall that leads to the main staircase.

Sure enough, Harry caught the billow of dark robes as he rounded the corners and reached the stairs. He quickened his steps while also being careful to keep to the shadows, tailing the professor at a distance.

A few flights of stairs later and Harry finally realized where they were headed-the third floor corridor. Harry felt his excitement grow. Professor Quirrell slipped through an unremarkable door at the end of the hall, but before Harry could follow, he heard another set of quickened steps behind him. He barely had time to duck behind a stone statue of a knight before another figure was sweeping past.

_Snape_? Harry’s curiosity was piqued. He stared at the door for a moment, mind filtering through a variety of scenarios. But before he could decide what he would do next, the door flung open again and both professors stumbled out. 

Furious snarling and barks sounded from within the room, only quieting once the doors slammed shut.

“ _What_ exactly were you doing?” Snape was the first to speak-or rather, snarl. Professor Quirrell flinched.

“S-S-Severus,” he stuttered. “Y-y-you’re b-bleeding.”

“Are you after the stone!?” Snape interrogated, all but backing the shorter professor into the wall. “Who are you?”

The stone? Harry licked his lips in anticipation. So _that_ was what was hidden within the ‘forbidden’ corridor. But what stone was valuable enough to be secreted away in a magical castle?

“Y-you must be j-joking,” Professor Quirrell’s eyes darted about wildly. “I-I-I am o-one of the p-p-people p-protecting it. W-what would I n-need it f-for?”

Snape’s face twisted into the ugliest sneer that Harry has ever seen. “Are you after the elixir?”

Harry leaned forward, unwilling to miss even a word from the exchange. _Elixir_? This was turning out to be more promising than he had dared to hope.

Professor Quirrell opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was suddenly cut off by a booming voice that resonated through the castle. “All staff to the Great Hall. I repeat, all staff report to the Great Hall.”

Harry could have cursed the interruption. Snape seemed equally displeased. He fixed his colleague with a venomous glare, wand snapping out at his side. The next moment, however, he had it pressed against Professor Quirrell’s neck.

“I’m warning you now, _Quirinus_ ,” Snape hissed. “I’ll be _watching you_.”

With that, the potions master spun on his heels and limped off. Harry quirked a brow at the faint trail of blood running down one of the professor’s legs. Professor Quirrell only remained for a few breaths after the other wizard had gone. He cast one last long, indecipherable look at the door before he, too, left in the same direction as Snape.

For a time, Harry didn’t emerge from his hiding place behind the statue. The gears in his mind were churning and he had to _think_ while everything was still fresh.

Forbidden third floor.

Stone.

Elixir.

_Blood_.

Harry tapped his chin with a finger, easily putting the pieces together. A long minute passed. Then he suddenly let out a bark of laughter, stepping out from behind the statue and strolling back towards the Slytherin dormitories.

Evidently, there was something hidden away behind that door behind layers of protection. Judging by what Professor Quirrell had said, the protectors were none other than the professors themselves. And the first of those protections was…a dog? A wolf?

Harry shook the stray thoughts from his mind. 

First, he had some research to do. A stone that had something to do with elixirs which held high importance. It shouldn’t be too difficult.

A challenge-that was what this was. Harry grinned. The mystery, the hidden treasure, the protections-there was no other way to put it. It was a challenge, and it was one that he intended to win. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! My laptop screen had to be replaced and I only got it back two days ago :)
> 
> But here is the next chapter! Things are finally coming to a head and Harry is beginning to uncover the truth.
> 
> In the next chapter, Harry attends the Greengrass family's Samhain party. The Purebloods won't know what hit them...
> 
> Stay tuned!


	7. The Greengrass Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something happened on Samhain that shocked even Harry.
> 
> Later on, Harry attends the Greengrass party and Daphne's plan comes to light.
> 
> But the results are beyond everyone's expectations...

The Slytherin common rooms was a cacophony of furious whispers. The younger and older students alike were all gathered in the main sitting room, standing in clusters and casting glances at the door.

Miles Bletchley stood off to the side of the room, eyes casually scanning over the crowd of assembled students.

The situation with the troll had brought a terrible strain upon Samhain. Some of the children from the more powerful Pureblood families had already begun to talk of filing complaints against the school, and Miles had expected none other than the young Malfoy heir to be at the very helm of that group.

Strangely enough, the blonde was silent, staring blankly at the Common Room entrance along with the others in his small, exclusive group. Miles looked curiously to them, picking out the familiar faces of each of the Pureblood heirs and heiresses. Something seemed off, however, and when he realized what exactly it was, he wondered how he had managed to miss it in the first place.

Malfoy’s group was missing a mop of messy black hair. The Potter boy was nowhere to be found.

The last Miles had seen of him was before dinner had started back in the Great Hall. At the moment, he knew that the only one in the entirety of Slytherin who would have any clue as to where Harry Potter may have disappeared off to was Malfoy.

Casually but discreetly, Miles circumvented the other Slytherins and sidled up to young Draco. The other was so lost in thought that he didn’t even react until Miles had spoken.

“I thought Potter was with you.”

The purposefully offhanded remark threw Malfoy off balance.

“What?” The blonde asked.

“Potter,” Miles elaborated, deliberately keeping his tone disinterested. “Didn’t he walk back from the Great Hall with you?”

Once the question sunk in, Malfoy turned to him and fixed him with a glare that was so venomous that Miles wondered if he had accidentally made some offensive comment. 

“You know he didn’t,” Malfoy snapped bitterly. “He didn’t come back at all. Typical Potter.”

Miles’ slightly raised brow was the only indication of his surprise. Potter may be clever and powerful, but he was still only eleven years old and nowhere as experienced to be able to take on a troll. 

Or so Bletchley thought. But he had been proven wrong before. Nonetheless, going after the troll alone was an immense risk. 

Potter wasn’t the sort to take risks.

“Do you know where he went?”

Malfoy gave a stiff jerk of the head. “He was gone before I could ask.”

“He was in quite a rush to leave,” Blaise chipped in, nodding his head in agreement. “It was strange, really. I think he was going in the opposite direction.”

Malfoy scoffed, chin raising up in the classic Malfoy manner. “Like I said- _typical_.”

Miles hummed, only half listening as the other first years moved onto more trivial topics. His gaze helplessly drew towards the door, as if expecting Harry Potter to burst through at any moment.

It was almost suspicious, how Potter was always conveniently absent whenever something extraordinary or some sort of accident was going on. Miles would have almost guessed that Potter was the one who had let the troll into Hogwarts, but the probability of that was practically nonexistent. Still, Miles had to wonder. What exactly was Potter getting up to while the rest of them were stuck there in the dormitories?

“The professors were called? Do you have any idea why?” Miles’ attention returned as the Zabini heir had just finished voicing his question.

“It had to have been an emergency,” Malfoy mused. “Are they organizing a search party for the troll?”

“No.” Surprisingly it was Nott who answered. The boy had been quiet for the majority of the evening so the sound of his voice was unexpectedly jarring even in the clamour of the common room. “It would have to be more serious than that.”

The group quieted for a moment, each with their own thoughts. 

“Do you think something happened Potter?” Blaise asked.

Miles had to hold back an eye roll. Malfoy didn’t even bother to try. “Are you serious? What could _possibly_ happen to him in Hogwarts?”

“Yeah,” Miles agreed, and half jokingly added, “If it came down to it, I’d personally be more worried about the troll.”

Blaise cast him a skeptical glance, but before he could respond, the Common Room doors slid open. It was almost comedic how quickly the noise died, before roaring to a crescendo when, instead of a scowling Professor Snape, Harry Potter stepped in instead.

The crowd stirred, confused movement rippling outwards from where Potter came in through the entrance. Miles would have bet that no one else had even noticed his absence in the first place. 

That was the thing about Potter. When he wanted to, he could stand out amongst a crowd like a beacon of light in the dark, but at the same time, he could blend seamlessly into the backdrop, easily slipping from the mind of observers.

Miles had personally seen it happen many times. Most remarkably was when Potter was in a rush. The students would part subconsciously for him as he pushed his way through, yet their eyes would always slide off him, unrecognizing and blank. Miles didn’t think that even Draco’s group was aware of that aspect of Potter’s talents. He knew that he himself wouldn’t have ever found out had he not been actively seeking out the Potter heir wherever he went.

It was quite terrifying, yet at the same time oddly exhilarating. With every new discovery he made, Miles became increasingly assured that he had chosen correctly. After all, he would only defer to the best.

“Potter!” Draco clomped to where Potter stood at the outer edges of the students and just about dragged him over. “Where have you been?”

“Didn’t you hear what Quirrell said about the troll?” Blaise looked equally displeased.

“Professor Quirrell,” Harry corrected absentmindedly, his eyes dazed over.

Miles blinked, taken aback by the never-before-seen expression on the other boy’s face. 

Something must have happened earlier. _Something big_. It almost felt as if something fundamental had shifted. There was a thoughtfulness in Potter’s eyes that gave him shivers. If Miles didn’t know any better, he’d have said that the boy has gained a new purpose.

But that couldn’t possibly be true. Potter was just about the most impulsive and unfocused person he knew. Which made it all the more frightening.

Draco made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “Come on, Potter. Give us _something_. What happened?”

Miles turned his eyes to the young wizard.

When there was no response, Draco nudged him in the shoulder. “Potter?”

The green-eyed boy blinked in rapid succession as if coming out of some trance. “Sorry, what?”

“Did anything happen?” Draco repeated, more sharply this time.

Potter tilted his head. “If you’re talking about the troll, then no, I haven’t seen it.”

“But-” Blaise began, only to be cut off.

“If you’re curious, why don’t you ask Professor Snape? He’s right outside the door at the moment,” Potter suggested, tilting his chin in the direction of the Common Room entrance.

Before Miles could even fully process what he had meant, or question how he could possibly have known, the doors opened to absolute silence for the second time that night. Draco stilled. Miles might have found his wide-eyed expression funny had he not been sure that the exact look was mirrored on his own face.

The best word to describe the Potions Master at the moment would be haggard.

He was walking with a visible limp, gingerly favouring one leg over the other. There were deep lines set within his face that had not been there that morning that made him seem nearly a decade older. It was such a stark contrast to how the man had looked earlier that evening that not a word was spoken amongst all of the students, despite the curious anticipation that they all shared.

The entirety of Slytherin house waited with bated breath.

“The troll has been apprehended,” the professor was the first to speak. It was as if his voice had broken some sort of spell. Murmuring spread through the group of gathered students. When the older wizard didn’t immediately silence them with his glare, Miles knew that something had gone terribly wrong. “A student had been caught up in the incident.”

Miles’ eyes shot immediately to Potter. But of course, he shouldn’t have even bothered in the first place. The other boy wore an appropriately interested expression, as usual, that gave no indication of his actual thoughts.

“It is unfortunate, but none of the professors were able to make it on time.”

A flicker of understanding passed Miles’ eyes. He felt himself stiffen alongside the majority of the other Slytherins who had been able to decipher the professor’s ominous words.

“Who was the student?” A voice asked.

Professor Snape’s features twisted for the slightest of moments, as if remembering something that brought him a great deal of pain. But it passed as soon as it had come. “A first-year Gryffindor.”

Miles heard a sharp intake of breath from beside him. It took him a moment to realize that it had come from _Harry Potter_.

“Hermione Granger.”

There were louder mutterings this time, the students all turning to converse with those around them about the news. Miles ignored the chatter in favour of studying Potter’s expression. For the first time since he has met him, Potter looked genuinely surprised. Or to be more accurate, he appeared _shocked_. It was quickly replaced by an emotion that Miles couldn’t read before his usual expression snapped back in place.

It was a brief lapse but it was more than enough for Miles to go off on.

His brain quickly worked through the information he had been given, from the professor's words to Potter's expression. As he did, he found the pieces of the puzzle slowly forming together.

Now, he was left with two possibilities. One, that Potter had not been involved at all in the affair. And wasn’t that a surprise? No matter what it was, Potter was always in the thick of everything, pulling the strings and watching as it all unfolds. That being said, Miles thought the second possibility to be much more likely-that Potter had orchestrated the entire thing, but simply hadn’t expected for it to go that far. 

Despite it having been an accident, a student had ended up dead. The word was bitter on his tongue.

Muggleborn or not, Miles still couldn’t quite bring himself to come to terms with what had happened to Granger. He remembered her thick mane of brown curls and her fiercely determined glare. Then, an image surfaced to the forefront of his mind-the same girl, but with blood-matted hair and glassy, lifeless eyes. 

It was all too easy to imagine and, now, impossible to forget. Bile rose to the back of his throat at the vivid picture.

“The official announcement will be made tomorrow at breakfast,” Professor Snape continued, monotonous voice droning on as if he were giving them the usual potions assignment. “I expect you all to behave fitting of Slytherins. This is a serious occasion and it will be treated as such.”

His dark eyes roamed over the gathered students once more before he turned and left, the Common Room entrance slide shut behind him.

Miles turned to Potter but regretted his decision as soon as he did. The younger boy’s eyes were _burning_ , and Miles knew that he was pissed, though he had no idea why. A vague sense of familiarity tingled at the back of his mind and it only took a moment for him to draw the parallels. 

Potter looked exactly as he had minutes before he left Rosier bleeding and convulsing on the floor. His smile was just a tad too sharp, his eyes curving upwards into slitted crescents.

But from what he has heard, Potter shouldn’t have cared at all about what had happened to the mudblood. Especially after her episode in Charms, Miles thought that Potter should have, if anything, been delighted by the turn of events.

Instead…

Potter, at that moment, was just about _radiating_ danger.

Suddenly, something clicked and Miles barely stopped his eyes from widening. Right then, Potter had the semblance of a predator whom just had its prey stolen right from its jaws.

With dawning alarm, Miles realized that Potter was less angry about the girl’s death and more irked at the fact that he wasn’t able to carry out what he had initially planned. Miles wasn’t sure how he felt about his epiphany. While he has known that Potter can be cruel and ruthless when incensed, he had no idea as to the depth of the boy’s apathy.

There was something so inhumane and monstrous about his reaction to the event that Miles found himself physically recoiling as Potter glanced up, meeting his eyes.

At that moment, Miles was almost certain that with one wrong word, he would be the next mangled body lying in a puddle of his own blood.

So he did the only thing he could.

He bowed his head in submission, forcing himself to remain still as Potter brushed past him. That short exchange alone was already enough for a sheen of cold sweat to gather in the palms of his shaking hands.

Only after Potter had gone did Miles dare to raise his head again. He found himself meeting the questioning stares of the Malfoy and Zabini heir. At once he could tell that neither boys had caught on to Potter’s change in mood over the course of Snape's short speech. Without bothering to explain himself, Miles turned and stalked up the stairs, mind still reeling from the night’s events. Once he reached the top, he stood and breathed deeply.

He had already aligned himself with Potter, and he didn't regret it. However, it was only then that he had begun to truly understand who Potter was. It left him somewhat fearful but mainly awed that it had taken even him such a long while. Judging by the expressions on the other younger Slytherins' faces, he could tell that the vast majority of them had yet to figure it out.

Suddenly, he felt a stab of pity for the other students who were so charmed by Potter’s grace. They had no idea what was to come.

_Merlin have mercy on their souls_ , Miles thought as he slipped into the third year boys dormitories. _For Potter will not_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry had been surprised when Snape gave them the news of Granger’s death. Then he had been irritated. It was the one thing that he hadn’t foreseen, the one thing beyond his control, and Harry _loathed_ relinquishing control of any kind.

What he did in Charms had been done with the intention of teaching her a lesson. He had still been in the process of gauging her usefulness. While her personality left much to be desired, her magical prowess was doubtlessly exceptional. Harry still hasn’t decided whether she was more likely to become a hindrance or a convenient tool, but now, that decision had been taken away from him.

He knew, from what he has seen from Granger, that the former was much more probable than the latter. If the incident with the troll hadn’t happened, then eventually, he might have to deal with her himself.

Nevertheless, at the moment he was very much irritated.

It was the first time that he’s killed, be it directly or indirectly. And Granger’s blood _was_ on his hands. The only reason why she wasn’t with the other Gryffindors was that he had publicly humiliated her.

All the previous times at the orphanage-technically, none of them are _dead_. They are simply…incapacitated. Harry had always wondered, with morbid curiosity, what his first time taking a life would be like. He never imagined it to be something like this.

What had happened with Granger was an accident. Harry didn’t do _accidents_. He always knew exactly what he wanted and did whatever was needed. He was always in control-or, at least he had been, until that night, apparently. The thought was enough to send another jolt of annoyance through him.

Harry pushed through the doors to his room with more force than necessary. In the long run, his mistake this time had been an insignificant one. But it was still something that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

The realization of his oversight had managed to sour his evening. It dampened even the excitement he had felt upon learning of the stone in the third-floor corridors. He made his way over to his side of the room, footsteps heavier than usual. 

When he neared his bed, his gaze fell upon the Greengrass invitation on his nightstand. It was a sudden reminder of his other engagement for the night. Harry held up the letter to the light and read through it once more, pushing all thoughts of Granger out of his mind. He had more important matters to focus on for the moment. 

He inhaled deeply, forcibly bringing about a sense of calm. Going by Draco and Pansy’s reactions, the soirée was of monumental importance within the Pureblood circles. That meant that those in attendance were also going to be of great significance.

Harry strolled over to his wardrobe and rummaged through the robes he had. A smile lined his lips as he found the one he was looking for.

He still hasn’t figured out what Daphne’s motivations were behind inviting him into her home, but it hardly mattered.

Daphne had evidently inherited her family’s strict moral compass, and whatever she had planned out, it was unlikely to cause him actual harm. In addition to that, Daphne was still a _child_. Harry sometimes had trouble remembering that not all the other students were the same as him. Despite being more perceptive than the other students, she was only a fledgling when it came to the mental games that Harry was so well versed in.

Whatever she had originally intended, the fact stood that Daphne had practically handed Harry a platinum opportunity on a silver platter. He would make the best of the gathering-after all, he would be hard pressed to have another chance at meeting all the people of importance in the magical world, all gathered in one room.

If nothing else, it should prove to be a rather entertaining evening.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why aren’t they here yet?” Daphne strode around the room, her blue evening gown fluttering behind her.

Lady Aurelia Greengrass, her mother, clicked her tongue chidingly from behind her. She was draped in a darker blue dress that fell from her shoulder like liquid silver. It accentuated her sapphire eyes, which Daphne had always loved and envied. “Settle down, dear. Didn’t you say that the students had to evacuate? Perhaps they are being held back.”

“They could have left with me through the family Portkey,” Daphne bristled. “But instead they chose to wait for _Potter_.”

Aurelia raised an elegant brow.

Daphne scowled at the amused expression on her mother’s face and resumed her pacing. “They better not be late.”

"There's still a half-hour before the other guests arrive," Aurelia pointed out.

"Yes, but I told them to be here _fifteen minutes ago_."

Hardly a moment passed after she had finished speaking before the main fireplace flared to life. Daphne paused, straightening up and regarding the green flames with barely concealed impatience. The next moment, Draco, Blaise, and Theodore tumbled down onto the ground, followed by Pansy, who stepped through primly. Harry Potter was the last, chortling as he landed next to the fallen Purebloods.

“Potter!” Draco hissed angrily, eyes narrowing, though the bright blush on his cheeks coupled with the fact that he was covered in ash detracted largely from the effect of his glare.

“It’s your fault, Draco,” Blaise complained. “Why, of all people, would you make a bet with Potter?”

Daphne watched the scene speechlessly. She’s rarely seen any of her friends with a hair out of place, yet at the moment, the three Pureblood heirs were ungraciously sprawled across the floor, their robes in disarray and faces tainted with soot.

Aurelia coughed pointedly and 5 pairs of eyes snapped to her. Pansy took a step to the side as if attempting to distance herself from the others and their embarrassing entrance. Draco, Blaise, and Theodore all struggled to stand, hurriedly straightening their attire and brushing the ash from their persons. Potter, being who he was, simply grinned wider, completely unabashed.

Daphne let out a sharp exhale. They were lucky that Daphne had scheduled for them to arrive half an hour early. Had the other Pureblood families been here already, they would never be able to live it down. Her mother seemed to take pity on the three bedraggled heirs, for she flourished her wand and vanished the soot entirely from the fireplace and straightened up their dress robes.

“Heir Malfoy,” she addressed Draco first, offering him a nod. Draco gave a small bow in return, face still red with mortification.

“Thank you, Lady Greengrass,” Draco greeted properly, “I'm honoured to be invited to your home on such an occasion.”

“I can tell,” Aurelia said drily, causing Draco to stammer. Daphne could tell that her mother wasn't the least bit offended. It was more likely that she found the entire situation amusing.

“Heir Zabini,” she turned to Blaise next, who mumbled through an equally formal greeting.

“Heir Nott.” Theodore, having recovered from the accident better than his friends, gave a much more coherent reply.

“Heiress Parkinson.”

Daphne tuned out Pansy’s flowery praise of their newly decorated sitting room, opting to watch Potter instead. Inviting him had been a leap of faith on her part. If she wanted her suspicions confirmed, then this was the only option she could take. She could only hope that nothing goes terribly wrong for the rest of the night.

“Heir Potter,” Aurelia finally settled her startlingly blue eyes upon Potter. Unlike so many other Purebloods upon their first meetings with the Greengrass matriarch, Potter didn’t so much as bat an eye.

“Lady Greengrass,” Potter gave a quick dip of the head. “It’s a pleasure. I have to say, I was surprised to have received an invitation. I have heard from a reliable source that it is…highly unusual.”

Pansy stiffened as Potter’s eyes flickered over towards her. Aurelia glanced in her direction as well, before turning her attention back to him and smiling politely. “You have no need to worry, Heir Potter. Your source is simply _misinformed_. Any friend of Daphne’s is welcome here.”

Pansy seethed.

If Potter felt any satisfaction at Lady Greengrass’s passing reprimand towards the Parkinson heiress, he didn’t let it show on his face. “That’s very kind. Thank you.”

“I’ve heard many things about you from Daphne,” Aurelia continued, walking towards the ballroom and gesturing for them to follow.

“Nothing too bad, I hope,” Potter’s smile was all teeth, and despite his joking tone, Daphne had to resist the urge to shiver.

“Not at all,” Aurelia gave a dismissive wave. “I am quite impressed, to be perfectly honest. Not many Slytherins are able to gain the allegiance of houses other than their own.”

Potter laughed. The sound was almost like the tinkering of chimes. “That is an exaggeration. I don’t have anyone’s ‘allegiance’. I’m just easy to talk to.”

“I’m sure,” Aurelia smiled. Daphne could tell that she didn’t believe a word he said.

Daphne was straining her ears to catch the next segment of their discussion when a figure suddenly cut into her path.

“Daphne!”

Daphne spared a look in Pansy’s direction. The other girl’s eyes were nearly twinkling with excitement, no doubt hoping to share another piece of unimportant hearsay. Another time Daphne would have humoured her, but at the moment she wanted to keep an eye on Potter.

“Not now.”

However, Pansy wasn’t deterred by her obvious dismissal in the slightest. “Daphne, you’ll never guess what happened!”

Daphne sighed. Her mother had just begun questioning Potter about his classes. Deciding that tuning out of the conversation for a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, Daphne reluctantly slowed and fell into step next to Pansy. “What is it?”

“Daphne, you know how a troll was found in the dungeons tonight?”

“And?” Daphne prompted. Pansy was a decent friend, but she was also a terrible gossip. And so, Daphne, expecting some farfetched rumour, was entirely unprepared for what she said next.

“A student was caught up in the incident,” Pansy revealed gleefully.

Daphne almost stumbled. Only years of Pureblood etiquette training kept her on her feet as she faltered ever so slightly in her steps. “A student?”

“ _Hermione Granger_ ,” Pansy whispered, a delightful smirk pulling up her lips.

Daphne felt her blood turn to ice. For a moment it was as if all the sounds in the room was suddenly muted, and all she could hear was her own increasingly agitated breaths. Her head snapped up and her eyes automatically sought out Potter. He stood there, seemingly innocuous, laughing openly at something that Aurelia said.

A pang of dizziness ran through her and Daphne had to steady herself against the wall.

It was all too much to be a mere coincidence.

Hermione Granger, who had been increasingly envious of Potter the past few weeks. Hermione Grander, whom Potter had sent fleeing from Charms in tears. Hermione Granger, whom Daphne had now discovered to have been killed on the very evening of their altercation. Daphne would sooner take an unforgivable to the face before believing that any of it hadn’t been a part of Potter’s deep-rooted schemes.

For all she knew, Potter could have been the reason the troll had gotten in the first place.

Harry Potter was a _murderer_. And he was in her home.

“The mudblood finally got what she deserved,” Pansy said viciously.

It took several seconds for the words to sink in, but when it did, Daphne’s eyes shot to her. “How could you _say_ that?”

Pansy stiffened defensively. “What do you mean? Don’t pretend that you didn’t hate her just as much as the rest of Slytherin.”

“I may have hated her, but that doesn’t mean I wanted her to-!” Daphne floundered. Her hands were fisted at her sides, trembling slightly. How could Pansy not understand? At that moment, she felt something akin to despair. “Pansy…a girl _died_. This is serious. Can’t you see?” Daphne pled, grabbing her friend by the arm.

Pansy’s stubborn glare wavered. For the fraction of a moment, Daphne thought that she had her. “Granger’s a mudblood. Why does it matter?”

Daphne inhaled, her hand dropping to her side. “‘Why does it matter?’”

“It was an accident, okay?” Pansy reasoned, but she sounded less like she was trying to convince Daphne and more like she was trying to convince herself. “Hogwarts is _dangerous_. Something like this always happens once every few years. I’m just glad that the victim was a mudblood instead of a Pureblood.”

Daphne felt a sharp sting behind her eyes. She held back her tears with ironclad control, forcing her mask to slip back in place. It was frustrating. “How are you so sure that it was an accident?”

Pansy shifted, her eyes widening slightly. “Daph, what are you trying to say?”

“What’s going on?” Draco drifted over, flanked by Blaise and Theodore.

“Daphne, are you alright?” Blaise asked. Even Theodore looked mildly concerned. Daphne guessed that she didn’t disguise her distress as well as she had thought.

“Daphne, you were saying? You don’t think that Granger was killed by the troll?” Pansy prodded. The three boys grew rigid, turning to her with disbelieving eyes.

“Do you?” Daphne shot back, looking each of her friends in the eye.

Blaise and Draco exchanged uneasy glances while Theodore’s eyes turned thoughtful.

“It’s the only plausible explanation,” Draco’s brow furrowed. “Why do you care about this, anyway? Hogwarts is better without her.”

Daphne spun on him. Her fury must have been evident, for the blonde flinched back. “Someone died, Draco. I may not have cared for Granger, but it could be any one of us in her position right now! There is a _murderer_ at Hogwarts, and you’re here asking me why I care?”

A moment of silence passed, tension growing with every passing second.

Theodore finally spoke. “The professors all agreed that she was killed by the troll, and it had already been caught and taken away. I don’t understand why you can’t seem to accept it…Unless you know something that we don’t?”

The others turned to her expectantly. Daphne opened her mouth, but no words came out. There was no way to explain it in which there was no room for doubt. 

Daphne frustration swelled up within her. 

Why were they all so blind?

“Think about it,” she finally said. “Who might have wanted Granger gone? Who has the power to orchestrate the incident with the troll? _Who was absent during the attack_?”

Unsurprisingly, Theodore was the first to understand.

“Potter may be brilliant, but he’s not a killer,” he snapped.

Daphne scoffed. For some reason, Theodore was unyieldingly loyal to the Potter heir. This was already the second time she’s seen him indignant on Potter’s behalf, and before, Theodore rarely let his anger show.

“Theo’s right, Potter’s not a murderer,” Blaise agreed. “Look at Rosier. He’s already recovering, and we’ve all heard him say terrible things about Potter-way worse than anything that Granger would even consider saying.”

“You’re also forgetting that he was with us for the majority of the day. He was in the Great Hall with us when Quirrell discovered the troll,” Draco added.

“And Potter’s not good enough to deceive each and every one of the professors, anyhow,” Pansy interjected. “Even if he did do it, so what? He’d have done us a favour.”

Daphne watched on helplessly. None of them understood. None of them knew just exactly what Potter was capable of. She was alone in her knowledge and her suspicions. How could she possibly stand a chance against Potter?

A sudden trill of laughter drew their eyes.

At the center of the room, Potter was leaning in and whispering to none other than little Astoria, Daphne’s sister, and closest friend. The sight was enough to sent Daphne into a panic so thick that it threatened to choke her, pushing the air out of her lungs and blurring her vision. Astoria was giggling joyously, basking in the attention and blissfully unaware. 

Daphne cursed herself. Why did she ever think that it would be a good idea to invite Potter into her home? Why did she even _consider_ placing Potter in such a close proximity to her little sister?

_Because you are arrogant._ A small voice said in the back of her mind. _Because you want to expose him for who he is. Because you want to prove your friends wrong._

But now, she regretted her own actions more than ever. Why did it matter if she knew exactly how dark Potter’s magic was if it meant exposing the entirety of her family to that darkness? Daphne had made a terrible mistake, and now it was too late.

“Daph, what’s wrong?” Pansy’s alarmed voice eventually drew her out from her near panic attack. “Daph?”

Daphne gulped in a large breath of air, suddenly lightheaded. She wanted nothing more than to cut across the room and separate the two, but she knew that if she so much as shifted her weight at the moment her knees would surely buckle beneath her.

“Daphne, dear? Are you alright?”

Without them noticing, Aurelia had already glided up to their group. She lowered herself until she was at eye level with her daughter, eyes shimmering with worry.

Draco and the others shared a look and took it as their cue to leave, distancing themselves from the pair.

“Mother,” Daphne breathed, “Astoria. What’s she doing downstairs?”

Aurelia frowned. “Honey, you know that your sister won’t be allowed to attend the official party. It wouldn’t be fair to her to force her to remain in her room before the guests start to arrive. And besides.” Her eyes shone knowingly. “She wanted to meet the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Daphne couldn’t speak, couldn’t look away as Astoria curtsied and Potter took her hand, giving her a twirl and sending her into another fit of giggles.

“He’s a nice boy, you know,” Aurelia spoke, resulting in an incredulous stare from Daphne. “Oh, don’t give me that look, honey. He may be a little strange, but he isn’t as bad as you made him out to be.”

“No,” Daphne agreed. “He’s worse.”

Aurelia sighed, smoothing down Daphne’s hair. Daphne knew the look in her eyes. 

To her, Daphne was still only an eleven-year-old girl who was overdramatic and knew nothing of the world. But she _wasn’t_. She was the only one to see the situation for exactly what it was, yet no one believed her. Once again, the feeling of being utterly alone stuck her, and she was left with a gaping sensation in the hollow of her chest.

“You’ll see,” Daphne swallowed, taking a step back so that her mother’s hand dropped from her head. “At the Closing, you’ll know what I mean.”

A glimmer of understanding passed through Aurelia’s eyes before she gave a shake of the head. “Daphne, that is a very serious accusation to make. It’s been decades since the last time something’s happened during the Closing. You can’t possibly be suggesting that Harry’s soul is fragmented enough at such a young age for our wards to recognize it.”

Daphne held her ground.

The Closing was an annual Greengrass tradition in which they renewed the wards on their ancestral homes at the end of Samhain. Centuries ago, it had once been used as a method to determine potential allies for the family.

During the renewal, one would be able to glean the magical prowess of every individual in the room. Another effect, much more obvious, was if someone’s soul was tainted enough to have fractured. The indicators of that would be impossible to miss, and all Purebloods from the more traditional families knew the tells.

And if her suspicions were to be believed, then by the end of the night, every person of importance in the room would know Potter for exactly who he was- _a monster_.

She steeled her resolve. That’s right. Once that happens, there will be nothing that Potter could do to regain his halo as the Boy-Who-Lived.

“You’ll see,” Daphne promised. She ignored the weight of her mother’s reproving stare. She knew that she was right. Nothing broke the soul more thoroughly than murder-and Potter _was_ a murderer.

Her eyes drifted over to where Astoria was still clinging to Potter’s robes. A mix of fear and worry once again flared within her. She knew all too well how deep the hooks of Potter’s magic ran. It was easy to become addicted, and that was the last thing she would want to happen to innocent, little Astoria.

She should never have allowed the two to meet, but what’s done is done. At that point, she could only hope for the best.

_Soon_ , she told herself.

Now, all that was left to do was to wait for the rest of the evening to pass by. Daphne looked at the standing clock in the corner and counted the hours until midnight.

It was going to be a long night.

 

 

* * *

 

The guests started Flooing and Apparating in the moment the clock struck eight. Draco watched as witches and wizards draped in formal robes and gowns came one after the other. Soon, the entirety of the Greengrass ballroom was filled with familiar faces. He recognized the Minister of Magic, the Senior Secretary, Amelia Bones, and several other high ranked persons of the Wizengamot before he lost count.

It’s been a few hours since then, and despite the tedium of greeting each one that approached him and remembering them by name, Draco found himself enjoying the evening as it bore on.

The Greengrass ballroom was decorated in elegant silks of silver and white. Flickers of light drifted down from the enchanted ceilings, sizzling out just before coming in contact with any of the guests. Long tables were placed along the sides of the room, holding trays of pastries and glasses of champagne.

Draco enjoyed most of the social events he attended, but the Greengrass Samhain afterparty was one of his favourites. Along with the Malfoy ball, _naturally_.

Pureblood gatherings was a time for the exchange of information and useful gossip. Unlike most of his friends, Draco found these parties to be more of a pastime than a duty. He thought absently that the main reason might have been that all those in attendance knew the ins and outs of Wizarding politics, so it was unlikely for them to make any amateur errors in etiquette.

As he waved off the French Ambassador, he found himself drifting over to where Harry stood amidst a small crowd.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the other’s fame as both the Boy Who Lived as well as the last Potter heir. That, and the shock value stemming from the fact that nobody had expected to see him at a Pureblood party for predominantly grey or dark witches and wizards.

When he neared, Draco stilled at the change on Potter’s attire. It was subtle, but impossible to miss. 

Whereas before, the fabric had been a pure, velvety black, currently, forest green lines have appeared overtop, crisscrossing to run along the hem of his robes. At his chest, the lines converged to form what without a doubt was the Potter crest, before branching off in an intricate pattern that curved down his sleeves.

“It’s from absorbing the magic in the surroundings,” a voice said next to him. Draco turned and saw a smiling Theodore. “I asked him a while back. Isn’t it fascinating?”

Draco’s brows rose. It was rather brilliant. His identity would remain hidden until enough people had arrived, then when the insignia finally appeared, it would cause an uproar that would draw every person’s eyes to him.

_Not that he needed the extra attention_ , Draco thought, as the crowd surrounding Potter continued to grow. He could already see familiar besotted smiles lining the faces of a large part of Potter’s audience. They were eerily reminiscent of the expression most students at Hogwarts wore while speaking with him. 

There were also a much smaller group Purebloods who were silently sneering, whether be it at Potter’s blood status or title as the Saviour of the Light. But the majority of them tended to steer clear from Potter’s path, keeping to the outer edges of the room as if they were discomforted by his presence.

Draco and Theodore made their closer as Potter had just finished saying something to an Unspeakable that made the man’s lips quirk upwards. “Well, that was very enlightening,” the Unspeakable gave a tilt of the head once he noticed Draco and Theodore approaching. “Then I’ll be off, Heir Potter.”

“Salazar,” Draco muttered, unable to completely dispel the envy from his tone. “How’d you manage to start a conversation with an Unspeakable? They rarely attend gatherings, and when they do, they only speak to each other.”

Potter shrugged. “I was interested in his research.” 

His nonchalance caused Draco’s eye to twitch. Sometimes he wondered if Potter enjoyed being purposely irritating, or if he just had a talent at unintentionally prodding at others’ sore spots.

“Evidently he found you interesting, too,” Theodore peered at the Unspeakable, who was at the moment conversing with a woman, dressed in the same plain Department of Mystery robes as him, while gesturing towards their group. Or more specifically, towards Potter.

“Are you thinking of working there?” Draco asked, suddenly struck by inspiration.

It was no wonder that of all the important lords and ladies and ministers he could have talked to, Potter chose an Unspeakable. It also explained his obsession with books from the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. With his enigmatic personality, Potter could fit right in anyway. Draco felt as if he had come upon a revelation. He should have seen it earlier-

Potter threw his head back and laughed. 

It cut off Draco’s line of thought and drew numerous pairs of eyes to their group, most of which were curious rather than derisive.

When he lowered his head again, there were genuine tears of mirth in the corner of his eyes. Potter casted Draco an amused look. “An Unspeakable? Me? That would be a terrible idea. For the Ministry of Magic, that is. Personally, I’m more interested in studying elixirs.”

“Elixirs?” Draco echoed. It was such an unexpected shift in subject that it left him momentarily stunned.

That brief lull in conversation was all it took for another witch to step in. Draco recognized her as a well-reputed author of an advanced alchemy and potioneering series.

“You have an interest in elixirs?” She asked curiously, addressing the Potter heir.

Draco watched numbly as Potter practically lit up, the jade green of his eyes growing to new levels of vibrancy. 

And with that, he was swept away yet again, beginning an animated conversation with the witch who had spoken.

Draco was left staring after them, flabbergasted. 

Needless to say, he wasn’t accustomed to being ignored at gatherings such as those. But it seems that with Potter present, he had been delegated ‘second-tier’, and as things stood, he couldn’t even begin to feel mad about it. 

“Popular, isn’t he?” Blaise grumbled, joining them. He seemed on the verge of falling asleep, covering a yawn with a hand. “Thank Salazar that this is almost over.”

“When did Potter develop an interest in _elixirs_ , pray tell?” Draco asked, still caught up on the other boy’s words. 

Blaise shrugged helplessly and Theodore merely smiled. 

Draco debated whether or not to go after Potter again, but before he could so much as lift a finger, the toll of the clock striking twelve resonated throughout the room. The lights that had been drifting from the above froze, bobbing in mid-air. Then, they spun upwards, forming a sheen of pale gold that spread across the ceiling and walls.

“It’s just as amazing every time I see it,” Blaise murmured beside him. Draco had to agree.

The Greengrass family’s Closing Ceremony was a spectacle to behold. He craned his neck to watch as the lights danced across the room, casting the guests under a brilliant glow.

Draco’s appraisal of the event was cut short when his eyes landed on Daphne. She was standing across the room, entire body rigid and eyes widened. Desperation and conviction were just about etched in the determined set of her jaw and the stiff straightness of her back. It almost appeared as if she was waiting for something. Draco wavered, uncertainty growing in his mind as he looked back to the wondrous display of magic. 

Suddenly, a sharp crack reverberated through the air. The sheen of gold flickered, blackened sparks shooting out from thin, spiderweb-like lines that were beginning to form across its surface.

The glistening specks of black drifted about the room agitatedly, fizzling as it brushed the still glowing walls.

“The wards are reacting to something,” Theodore breathed, a rare expression of alarm growing on his face. 

“I wonder what it is,” Blaise glanced around the room, eyes shining with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

"Or  _who_ it is," Theodore added, similarly interested.

Draco knew exactly what to expect. The wards had detected some sort of broken magic in the room, and soon, the one responsible would be ejected from the Greenhouse residence. He suddenly hit with a sense of understanding and he turned towards Daphne. 

Somehow, she had known that something would happen during the Closing. At the moment, her expression was triumphant and her eyes were set on…Potter? Before he could further analyze the situation, a deep thrum echoed. It was then followed by the smell of burning pine.

All at once, the black sparks flickered and fizzled out along with the fragmented shield of golden light. Draco’s jaw dropped.

The Greengrass family wards, which had stood for centuries, had fallen.

The sheer impossibility of it all brought his thoughts to a grinding halt.

All sounds died down in the room. For a moment, it almost felt as if time itself had frozen. The shattering of a champagne flute broke the silence, and the commotion that followed was almost deafening. A mixture of confusion and horror spread across the crowds. Why was it that even the wards were unable to determine the source of tainted magic? What sort of power could have confused them to the point of shutting down?

Then, Draco’s arm was being grabbed. He didn’t react as Potter pulled him, Blaise, and Theodore away from the hubbub. 

“Come on,” the Potter heir muttered. “We need to get out of here.”

Draco barely caught a glimpse of Daphne’s aghast and incredulous expression before he was being led away, feet moving of their own accord as he followed his friends towards the main fireplace.

It wasn’t until they returned to the Slytherin Common Rooms in a flare of green and was back in the privacy of their room that Draco registered the change in his surroundings.

_Bloody hell_ , he thought as he all but collapsed onto his bed. The events of the day finally caught up with him then-the troll, Granger’s death, the breaking of the Greengrass wards. And it was suddenly all too much.

Draco sank into the mattress and closed his eyes as he was hit by a wave of nausea. If even the Greengrass family’s wards had failed-and on _Samhain_ , of all days-what guaranteed that the other Pureblood families' won’t? All at once, he understood that after that night, things would never be the same amongst Pureblood circles again. 

Something drastic has changed. And Wizarding Britain was caught right in the middle of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Greengrass wards had broken down! Hints of the reason will be given in the next chapter, but it will be a while before Harry learns exactly why it had happened. 
> 
> Next time-
> 
> Harry begins to unravel the mystery of the object hidden behind the third-floor corridor. The Purebloods are all in a state of frenzy.
> 
> As Christmas nears, a rumour begins to spread.
> 
> Harry receives a present and makes a discovery...


	8. The Unexpected Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gains a new purpose and Dumbledore prepares for an inevitable confrontation. A storm brews amongst Purebloods circles and rumors are spread.
> 
> The coming of Christmas brings Harry an unexpected gift...

Harry sat on his bed, curtains drawn and left folded beneath him. His head was resting lightly in his hands and his eyes were staring unblinkingly before him, the events that had transpired fresh on his mind. He let his eyelids droop and forcefully sunk back into the memories of the night.

The concentrated levels of magic had been a wonder to behold, yet at the same time, the golden light had brought upon him a deep sense of unease. A pressure began to build within his mind, only worsening when the black sparks appeared. 

During those moments, his scar had erupted with an agonizing pain. It seared into his very core, threatening to fry his every nerve and bring his blood to a boil. 

Morbidly, he had wondered if that was what the Cruciatus curse felt like.

The magic from the wards had latched onto him, or at least, onto something buried deep within him. 

It was some foreign entity whose existence Harry had never even known of until the wards dragged it to the forefront of his consciousness. It felt alien and familiar all at once, as if it had sunk so deep into him that it had become an ingrained part of his being. It was a splinter of ice caught in his mind, leaving behind a jagged wound as the ward forcibly dragged it forth.

But just before the pain became too much to bear, a wave of warmth had washed over him. 

It was a gentle caress, a soft breath of sorts. It pulsated through his veins, washing away the prickling jolts and leaving behind a trail of pleasant numbness. The warmth momentarily clashed with the coldness and the two forces warred within him, one bright and all-encompassing, the other frosting and angry. 

Harry had felt the tingles over the surface of the skin as the Greengrass magic desperately thought out that sliver of icy sharpness within him. 

But the other sensation, an emotion so strong and radiant that it just about manifested as a pale glow around him, held back the wards, causing their hooks to slip helplessly from his person. It was an emotion that Harry had no name for, that he had never felt himself. It was a mix of acceptance, protectiveness, and burning _warmth_.

Harry could already tell that it was a lost battle for the wards before they snapped. The Greengrass magic was an unrelenting, rigid force. But the force that protected him was soft and fluid and immensely powerful.

All at once, the ironclad clutch of the wards loosened.

He could pinpoint it down to the exact second that they gave way, crumbling from the built-up tension that could find no release. The moment the thick magic dissipated, his keen awareness of the two opposing magics also faded. 

They reverted to a dormant state within him, existing at a delicate equilibrium where neither could overpower the other.

Harry’s curiosity had been ignited, but he didn’t have time to do much else other than to drag his small group of shell-shocked fellow Slytherins back to Hogwarts with him before the fallen wards could bring upon further mayhem.

He could have held his own and he was certain that no one would have dared to touch the other Pureblood heirs and heiresses. But he has never been one to take unnecessary risks, and so, at the moment, he was left to his thoughts in the relative safety of the Slytherin dorms.

He opened his eyes to darkness.

The room was completely silent but he knew that the others were all wide awake. The destruction of the previously impenetrable Greengrass wards would take the Pureblood ranks by storm, and the families of the other Slytherins would be left to deal with the fall-out.

Harry slid beneath the covers, the night hiding his smile. Daphne’s ploy had caught him completely unaware, but ultimately it had backfired.

Still, it seemed that she was much more active in her resistance against him that he had originally thought. 

Something had caused her to suspect him of having magic that was tainted enough to alert her family wards, and she had acted to expose that darkness before the entire higher echelon of Wizarding Britain.

Harry pondered as settled into the warmth of the bedsheets. 

Was the Greengrass heiress an asset or a threat?

_No_ , he decided. _She was neither_. Daphne Greengrass was a wildcard, unpredictable in her actions and naively reckless.

He pushed her out of his mind and closed his eyes. He would let her be, _for now_. She would have enough to deal with after that night even without his interference, anyway.

As for the following days…

Harry readied himself for a busy month in the library.

 

 

* * *

 

Albus Dumbledore prided himself in his immaculate plans and their flawless executions. He had a knack for knowing certain things, for envisioning events before they play out. 

No, he wasn’t a Seer-not by a long stretch. But he liked to think that he was close as any normal wizard could get to being one sans the visions.

He had seen Grindelwald’s potential when he was still a child, then he had similarly seen his demise when all others believed him to be at the height of his power. He had known what Tom would become minutes into their conversation at the orphanage, and when the Prophecy child was born, he knew exactly what had to be done in order to draw the Dark Lord out of seclusion.

He has a gift of foresight.

But when it came to Harry Potter, all bets were off.

When he had awoken in the early hours to dawn to sharp knocks on his door, he just knew that it would concern the Boy-Who-Lived.

Only that it didn’t.

“Albus,” Severus Snape stood as stiffly as ever in the doorway, but there was a panicked glint to his eyes. Dumbledore felt a growing sense of worry. He had not seen that look on the surly man’s face since the night of Lily’s passing.

“What is it, Severus?” He questioned, stepping aside to allow the Potions Master entrance into his office.

“The Greengrass wards have fallen,” Snape breathed, not moving from where he stood.

For a long moment, Dumbledore couldn’t fully comprehend the words. 

The impenetrable Greengrass wards? 

It was an impossibility-one that he never wanted to even consider. The wards had held against Grindelwald’s forces and even against Tom’s advance. They were the one saving grace in the last two wizarding wars, the only thing that kept the Greengrass family neutral.

He knew that if cornered, the Greengrass’s would choose to align themselves with the Dark over the Light. The family was one that has upheld traditional Pureblood customs for centuries, and they would sooner follow a Dark Lord than give it all up.

While less powerful than the Blacks, the Greengrass’s were still a powerhouse in their own right. And so, Dumbledore thanked the heavens for their non-participation in the previous war.

But now, that tentative balance of power had tipped all in the course of one night. With the wards gone, they would finally have to choose their allegiances.

“Was it an attack?” Dumbledore finally spoke, an underlying tremor to his voice. “Has he returned?”

Snape’s jaw clenched. “No one knows for certain.”

Somehow, that made it all the worse. Voldemort was a known enemy, but if another entity powerful enough to shatter the wards had arisen, then Dumbledore needed to be made aware.

“Was there anything else? Anyone hurt?” 

“I _don’t_ know,” Snape repeated bitingly. “I’ve only just heard the news from Lucious,” the man continued. “He was there tonight, but according to him, there was no direct confrontation. The wards reacted to something during the Closing Ceremony, but before it could eject the intruder, it fell.”

Dumbledore backed away slowly, slumping into his chair. Possibilities were running through his mind, each less likely than the prior.

He himself had tried his hands at the Greengrass wards decades past when he had been in his prime. 

He hadn’t even gotten close. 

The thought that there was someone-or _something_ -out there that could so easily accomplish what he could not was, frankly, quite terrifying.

“What will you do now?” Dumbledore’s head snapped up.

A pregnant silence followed the question. His Potions Master was regarding him with a look that verged on desperation, as if he has all the answers. And most of the time, he did. Just not at the present. 

“…Nothing,” Dumbledore finally said. 

All that he could do was bide his time and wait. He was facing an unknown for the first time in his long, wizened life, and he wasn’t sure quite how he felt about it. 

“What about the Dark Lord?” Snape asked, voice stilted.

Dumbledore turned his back, tiredly glancing to the bright form of his familiar on his perch.

“We do nothing,” he decided. When it appeared that the other man was about to protest, he raised a hand. “No…tonight…what happened tonight wasn’t Voldemort’s doing. He’s arrogant, outrageously so. If he’s finally managed to dismantle the Greengrass wards, he would flaunt it to the masses. This…this was done by someone else.”

Someone dangerous.

“We must wait this out,” he continued.

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became in his own analysis. He recalled the lonely boy he had met at the orphanage, simmering with anger and yearning for acknowledgment. For validation. 

If Tom had been the one to bring down the wards, he would not be lurking in the shadows. Underhanded scheming has never been his style.

Dumbledore allowed himself a long exhale.

As long as Tom still hasn’t recovered his powers, then Dark has no leverage. 

There was still time.

With the wards gone, the Greengrass Family was fair game to either side. They would never be Light, but if he could help it, they would never have to be pressured into aligning with the Dark, either. 

“How goes the preparations for the stone?” He asked.

Snape gave a stiff nod. “We’ve all done as you’ve asked. Each layer of protection is already up, except for the last.”

The last-the Mirror of the Erised.

Unwittingly, his eyes strayed to the corner of his office, where a white cloth was draped over a long, rectangular form. The time was nearing and he knew that he would have to secure the stone within the next few months. Tom would make his move soon, and he would ensure that he would be prepared for when it comes.

Still, there was still one last ritual to be done before it could be sequestered away in the Third Floor Corridor. Before then, it would have to be left somewhere where stray students wouldn’t chance upon it. It held too great of an allure, even for him. The reminder alone was enough to invoke the memory of icy blue eyes, windswept blonde hair, and a wicked smile.

No, the mirror can no longer remain within his office. Greater men than he have fallen before it, and he didn’t trust himself to not do the same.

“Good,” he told the Potions Master, voice solemn.

Snape turned towards the door, but something seemed to hold him back. “Albus…” He reluctantly voiced. “This…will the stone truly be safe? Should _he_ choose to make a move…”

“Then he will be making a grave mistake,” Dumbledore finished. Snape still looked unconvinced, but gave a curt nod and left the office.

Dumbledore sat back, suddenly exhausted. The blue-eyed boy of his memories morphed into one with dark hair and hungry eyes, equally ambitious and equally cruel.

It seemed that history was doomed to repeat itself, regardless of what he did.

Egotism will be Tom’s downfall, just as it had been Gellert’s. In some ways, Dumbledore had known since he had first met the boy that it would one day come down to something like this. Now, the bait was cast and the trap was set. All that was left was for the fallen Dark Lord to be lured out of hiding.

 

 

* * *

 

The week directly following Samhain had been hectic. The tension was strung high and conversations have been had in hushed, conspiring tones. Daphne didn’t return to Hogwarts and the other Slytherin Purebloods had gotten increasingly anxious. 

However, once the month passed and the Greengrass family remained untouched, the excitement over the event began to dwindle. Soon enough, it was half buried in favour of other news.

Theodore Nott had been just as apprehensive as the others at the start. After all, what power would it take to demolish one of the most powerful barriers ever erected, and within a Pureblood Ancestral home, at that? Yet, nothing really changed. Life went on as usual and no more Blood Wards were collapsed, to the collective relief of the other Pureblood families.

Throughout the whole affair, the only one to not react in some degree was Harry James Potter. He had just shrugged and moved on, as if the event was entirely inconsequential. For all Theodore knew, it might have been to the Potter heir. 

Now, almost a month has gone by and the Greengrass Affair-as certain prominent newspapers has taken to calling it-was rarely being mentioned amongst the students. It was exam season and a certain restlessness energy saturated the castle. That naturally meant that the students have more immediate worries to deal with-namely, their grades.

Unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for Pureblood Lords and Ladies. Many of the neutral families have gone suspiciously silent, as if afraid that whatever-or whoever-had taken care of the Greengrass wards would go after them next. It was a naive fear, but not an entirely unwarranted one. 

On either ends of the spectrum, both the Dark and the Light were growing increasingly anxious with each day that passed. The threat remained an unknown variable and neither would lower their guard until knew _exactly_ which side it was on. There were whispers of the return of the Dark Lord, of vengeance, and of retribution.

Theodore tried to banish the distracting thought, but with little success. He was currently sat in his seat, staring at the locked crate on the table with an apt intensity. Charms was one of his best classes and he was sure that he could at least get an O, if not the highest mark in the class. The test itself was rather straightforward, though by no means easy.

They were each given a box, and they have to get through layers of protection using first year Charms in order to advance to the final stage. Everything they tried would be recorded by a magic detector at the very centre and if they managed to pass the last level, their exam would be considered as finished.

But at the moment, his attention kept drifting from his task, no matter how hard he willed himself to concentrate.

It was a timed exam, _for the love of Merlin_. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of worry for his absentee friend.

They were already fifteen minutes into the hour long exam and Potter was still nowhere in sight.

From what he has heard, it usually took even the brightest of students the entire hour to complete. Harry may practically be the second coming of Ravenclaw herself, but even he was only human. 

Anyhow, the boy didn’t seem like the type of miss out on such an important exam.

Has something happened?

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Theodore waved his wand forlornly, easily getting past the third part of the test.

His box glowed with a light green hue before the lid creaked open. Before he could go any further, however, the doors to the classroom flew open with a loud _bang_.

“Professor Flitwick!” Potter greeted breathily as he burst in, hair in disarray and familiar grin in place. “Sorry I’m late!” He was properly apologetic, flashing an embarrassed smile at the Charms professor. “It’s the stairs, you see. Tricky and spiteful when it matters the most.” He came to an unsteady stop, still lightly panting. “I had to take a detour.”

A few of the other students scoffed good-naturedly, shaking their heads. Others cast him amused looks or smirks. Theodore marvelled in the miraculousness of it all. 

Only Potter could tactlessly disrupt the silence of a timed test and not incite the annoyance of all of the exam-takers.

In fact, very few students seemed irritated with the Potter heir at all. Most of those who were knew better than to outwardly show it.

“Mr. Potter,” Professor Flitwick scuttled over, a long parchment drifting behind him. “Glad you could finally join us. Why don’t you take a seat at the back? The instructions are all written out on the board.”

Theodore heard an affirming hum followed by a brief rustling before all was quiet once more. He huffed, partially exasperated but mostly relieved at his housemate’s presence, before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

“ _Aparecium_ ,” he murmured, trailing his wand over the bottom of the box. He allowed himself a small smile when glamours fell away to reveal a few lines of writing.

It proceeded in the same fashion until Professor Flitwick called the last minute of the exam. Theodore finished the last of his incantations just as the time was called and let out a long-held breath.

He had cut it much closer than he originally intended, but at least the last of his exams was finally finished. A drawn out groan caught his attention and he turned just in time to witness Finnegan slump down into his desk.

“Oh, bugger off,” the Gryffindor glared at a laughing Harry Potter. “That’s impossible. You were late-there’s no way in hell you could’ve finished early. If you’re joking, I _swear to god-_ ”

Theodore’s nose wrinkled at the distinctively muggle phrase.

“I barely had enough time to remember the spells. I got stuck on the third to last level,” Dean Thomas, _the muggleborn_ , said as he joined in.

“At least you’re almost done. I skipped out on a page of my notes by accident,” the other boy groaned. “How do they expect us to know every first year charm? It’s _unfair_.”

Potter paused for a moment. “Oh. We were supposed to use the Charms taught in class?”

Theodore didn’t have to turn to see the incredulous expressions on the Gryffindor’s faces. The stunned hush that followed his housemate’s revelation was telling enough. He smiled to himself, tucking his wand into his holster.

“What do you mean!?” Finnegan finally exploded. “How else were you supposed to do it!?”

Theodore slipped out the class with Potter’s cackling following him out into the halls.

He sighed. 

Draco would probably be moaning all throughout dinner again. Whenever Potter mingled with students from any of the other houses, especially Gryffindor, the blonde’s mood would worsen. But in the end, all the Malfoy could do, really, was complain.

Normally the Slytherin hierarchy was clearly defined, with the heirs and heiresses from important Pureblood families situated at the top and those who have yet to prove themselves at the bottom. 

But Harry Potter was neither here nor there. He was an outlier, content enough with his standing to not actively reinforce his dominance over anyone else, yet never lowering his head to those stupid enough to openly challenge him. The other first year Slytherins all respected him to a degree, and should he want, he could easily topple the current leadership. 

Yet, he never acted on that potential. That left him in a peculiar sort of limbo where the other students simply let him do as he pleased as long as he helped keep up appearances when it mattered.

As things stood, there wasn’t anyone in all of Slytherin who could _make_ Potter do anything. Hopeless naivety aside, even Draco seemed to understand that particular point.

So, Potter fraternized with the Gryffindors, conversed with the Ravenclaws, and acted as a confidant to the Hufflepuffs. Despite the majority of his time being spent in the Slytherin dorms, it was an undisputed fact that Potter was equally liked by all the houses.

That in itself was nothing short of a miracle.

Furthermore, the professors all sang his praises. More unbelievable was the fact that _Dumbledore_ , who was notorious for his distrust of Slytherins, seemed to favour the young Potter heir as well.

What he has at his fingertips was unprecedented, yet Potter didn’t seem to notice at all. He went about his business as usual and treated everyone with the same distant cheeriness.

Theodore wasn’t foolish enough to think that Harry Potter considered him, nor any of the other Slytherins, his _friends_. Potter, interestingly enough, didn’t seem to have any true friends at all. He has acquaintances, yes. He has fans, admirers, and even the beginning of a large following, but there was no single person with who could boast of being closer to him than anyone else.

It was certainly unexpected, but on some level, Theodore understood why.

Potter has secrets-that was clear enough-and Theodore wasn’t sure that there was anyone who could bear the full brunt of their weight.

Theodore was much more observant than his other friends. He noticed when the other boy would disappear for hours at a time. When Potter finally returned, his magic would be abuzz with suppressed excitement and his eyes would shine gleefully with knowledge only he himself was privy to. 

Naturally, he was curious as to what Potter got up to in his spare time. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

When it concerned Potter, ignorance seemed much safer an option than knowledge.

Rosier, Granger, and Daphne were all perfect examples of that. One was hospitalized for an indeterminate amount of time and the other was dead. While physically unharmed, Daphne was suffering the consequences for her pushiness just as the other two had. Theodore has an inkling suspicion that the fall of her family’s wards had to do with Harry Potter, though he wasn’t sure how.

All in all, he has long since decided that he would leave Potter to his games and keep to himself as much as possible. 

While he admired the other boy, it was a far cry from the admiration he has for his parents and grandparents. What he felt for Potter was much more similar to the fascination he held for lethifolds, certain banned potions, and the Unforgivables.

He knew that Potter was awfully dangerous, but at the same time, the boy was also accepting and unprejudiced and, might he even add, _kind_. But not in the traditional sense.

Theodore, hailing from a undeniably Dark family and whose father sat in Azkaban for openly admitting his loyalty to the Dark Lord, expected scorn, hatred, and disgust from the Boy-Who-Lived. Instead, he was met with the same crooked smile and buoyant attitude with which Potter treated the Gryffindors.

In all honesty, it came as quite a shock.

The other students looked at him with distrust and suspicion. Most of the teachers tried to be partial, but he could tell that they weren’t capable of seeing him separate from his family name. Even Draco and Daphne and Blaise sometimes gazed upon him with pitying eyes. They have all the reason to, when he had lost a mother to war and a father to prison. 

The Nott family has fallen quite a way in the last century all as a result of siding with the Dark Lord. But he himself felt no resentment. His grandparents took care of him, and he was _proud_ of his parents for upholding their loyalties.

Of everyone he knew, only Harry Potter saw him as just another kid. Not the son of Thelonius Nott, infamous Death Eater convicted of over two dozen murders. Not the lone heir to the declining Nott family. Not a slimy Slytherin and Death Eater in the making. 

To Potter, he has always been _Theodore_.

But personality aside, Harry Potter was still dangerous. More terrifying was that Potter wasn’t intentionally trying to be. Trouble followed him like a plague and sucked in all those around him as well, spitting them out on the other side and leaving everyone, except for Potter himself, worse for wear.

So, yes. Theodore feared him. He feared him almost as much as he respected him.

Theodore Nott’s admiration was hard to win and, once won, hard to lose. He’s never felt as much awe for anyone as he did for Potter. Perhaps that was why he was so easily angered on behalf of the boy.

His thoughts dwindled when a familiar wave of dark hair caught his eye. Pausing mid stride of the corridor, he blinked.

“…Daphne?”

“Theodore,” the Greengrass heiress turned. 

“Where have you been?” Theodore questioned, falling into step beside his childhood friend.

The Greengrass family has remained tight-tipped after their Samhain party, making no move to either verify to deny the rumours that have been spreading around. They’ve put up anti-owl wards as well and letters that the Slytherins have tried to sent to their friend all have been returned unopened.

It was unexpected for Daphne to return just before the end of the term, half a week from Christmas break.

“Home,” Daphne rolled her eyes. “It’s such a bore. Mother didn’t want either Astoria or me to wander outside of our Ancestral Home before she and father are sure that it’s safe.” Seeing Theodore’s expectant stare, she sighed and continued. “I’m here to take the exams.”

“Exams?” He studied the girl, taking in her immaculately styled hair and relaxed expression. The tenseness drained from his shoulders once he was certain that his friend, for the most part, was unaffected by the recent events.

“I know you’ve already finished yours. Dumbledore’s allowing me to get tested individually by the professors instead of having to sit through the exams due to _extenuating circumstances_ ,” she smiled drily. “Mother’s delighted, of course. But we all know he’s just kissing up to us.”

“Ah,” Theodore huffed. “Afraid your family would go Dark?”

The irony wasn’t lost on him. 

The Greengrasses were as Dark as they came. They were a part of Sacred Twenty-Eight and followed the same Pureblood Traditions that the Notts, Rosiers, and Malfoys did. The only difference was that they were also cowards. They sided with neither the Light nor the Dark, choosing instead to claim neutrality and watch from the sidelines as the two clashed.

“He’s wasting his time,” Daphne shook her head. “The war’s already over. There’s hardly a need for us to align ourselves at all. We’ve always been neutral-it’s not going to change now.”

Theodore kept silent. Daphne may be the most observant one in their group, but she was still overly optimistic at times. The end of one war hardly meant anything at all. Barely two decades passed between Lord Grindlewald’s fall and Lord Voldemort’s rise. For all he knew, the next war could very well break out before they graduate.

“Haven’t you heard what they’re saying?” He prodded, tone deceptively nonchalant. 

The slight tightening at the corner of her lips were the only sign of her displeasure. “You mean the tasteless gossip that half the Ministry is hung up over?”

“You think it’s just a rumour.”

“No,” she droned. “I think it’s complete _hearsay_. A stupid one, at that.”

Theodore scanned the empty stretch of the hall, relaxing slightly upon confirming that they were truly alone. “That was carelessly done.”

The Greengrass heiress heaved unconcerned. “What? It’s not like I’m stating anything but the truth. People are letting their fear cloud their judgment.”

“It’s still a possibility,” he pressed. “Even you have to admit that.”

Daphne wound a long lock of dark hair around her finger, a subconscious habit of hers when she was aggravated. “It’s an improbability,” she corrected. “It’s been a decade. I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either.”

They passed through the courtyard, conversation dwindling when groups of students passed them. Once they were in the foyers, Theodore tilted his head curiously. “How are you so sure that the Dark Lord is truly gone?”

“Because Potter is still alive, alright?” Daphne snapped. “Because _I’m_ still alive. Because Draco still has a father, and yours is still in Azkaban.” Her frame tensed in guilt the moment she spoke. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. It’s just…” She sagged wearily, appearing less like a Pureblood heiress and more like the eleven-years old that she was. “It’s just been a tiring month.”

Theodore blinked with dawning realization. 

Daphne wasn’t being dismissive, or close-minded, or optimistic. She was _afraid_. It made sense, for with her family wards down, they would make an easy target for the Dark Lord should he return. The air of indifference she emitted and her disdainful words-both were to hide the fear she actually felt. 

He should have noticed sooner, since of all their acquaintances, Daphne was the most intuitive one. He hadn’t understood until that moment since his own circumstances were vastly different. 

Unlike the Malfoys who gave up fellow Death Eater names to ensure their own survival and the Greengrass’s who wormed their way out of having to participate entirely, his own family has practically given up everything for the war. So while he himself wouldn’t face the Dark Lord’s wrath, it was still a very real danger for his friends and their families.

“How is Astoria handling it all?” He asked instead, changing their topic of conversation. Daphne must already be bending under the stress; he didn’t want to further upset her right before her exams.

Besides, Astoria was always a safe topic with Daphne. The insistence with which other Pureblood families probed the Greengrass’s after the Greengrass Affair couldn’t have boded well for the ten-years-old girl. If there was one thing he was certain of when it concerned Daphne, it was that she cared deeply for her sister.

Daphne’s eye ticked. Theodore blinked in bemusement at the frustrated sound that the heiress made. “Fine,” she ground out, “Perfectly fine.”

It was uncommon to see Daphne’s mask of indifference slip in public, and more so to hear her speak of Astoria with anything beyond mild disgruntlement. Theodore’s curiosity stirred. “But?” He prompted. The other threw him a scathing glance, lips pressed together into a thin line.

Just when he thought that Daphne would leave his enquiry unanswered, the heiress turned to him, mask dropping to reveal frustrated annoyance.

“Ever since that night, all she ever talks about is Harry bloody Potter,” she grumbled. Her graceful steps devolved into near stomps as she continued. “It’s always _Harry_ this or _Harry_ that. She made Mother hire her a DADA tutor all because of Potter’s interest in the subject.” Daphne seethed. “She used to _hate_ DADA!” She rubbed at her eyes tiredly. “To make things worse, Mother _encourages_ her. It’s _awful_.”

Theodore raised a brow at his friend’s rare outburst.

A moment of silence later, she huffed. “She’s doing fine. Brilliant, actually. She’s too busy being _smitten_ with Potter and gushing over how _consuming his eyes are_ to worry about politics.” She visibly withheld a gag. “Her words, not mine.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips at Daphne’s ire. He didn’t envy her position. Potter was positively _addictive_ , and Astoria, from what he’s known of her, was quick to fall into spiralling obsessions over anything that held her interest.

“I’m sorry,” he told her sincerely. “She’ll get over it.”

“I am, too,” Daphne droned, but refrained from commenting on the second half of his words. They both knew it for the lie it was. No one _got over_ Potter. 

They fell into a companionable quietness after that brief interlude. 

Theodore was content to let his thoughts drift, comforted by Daphne’s presence by his side. Briefly, he thought that it was these moments of their friendship that he has missed the most during the weeks of her absence. She was one of the few people he knew who wasn’t discomfited by silence. 

However, their stroll was soon interrupted by an echoing laugh and hurried steps.

Daphne tensed. “Listen, I’ve go to go, alright?” She shifted, nervousness evident in the hard lines of her body. “The professors are already waiting for me in the Headmaster’s Office.” She turned, but faltered just before taking off down the halls. “Theodore, about Potter…be careful, okay?”

He stared unblinkingly back at his friend. Their eyes met for the fraction of a second. “Good luck, Daphne.”

A curt nod was all he got in return before the darker hair girl skulked up the stairwell, robes sweeping out behind her.

 

 

* * *

 

The day of Christmas was a quiet affair.

Harry awoke to an empty dormitory and a peaceful quietude. The rest of the Slytherin House had all gone home over the holidays, and only a few of the seventh years who were busy preparing for NEWTS lingered in the Common Room.

The rest of Hogwarts was the same. The difference became most apparent during meals. The previously bustling Great Hall was now verging on deserted. Each of the long tables were only occupied by a handful of students and all conversations were had in whispers.

Harry didn’t mind the change in the least. Truthfully, he has been much to preoccupied to let the sudden emptiness of the castle bother him at all. The last few weeks had been spent exchanging letters with those he’s met at the Greengrass gathering and in various corners of the library.

He’s been making steady progress with his research and he has already determined that it was none other than the philosopher’s stone secreted away in the forbidden corridor. But identification had ben the easy part. He soon discovered that there were only frustratingly sparse tidbits of information on the wondrous creation. It seemed that he had already reached a dead end with the resources he has. 

Which brought him to the question-what to do next?

He was so deep in thought that the significance of the day did not even occur to him until the evening when he, quite literally, tripped over the pile of wrapped parcels at the foot of his bed. He stared down at the wrapped packages for a long moment before his eyes widened in understanding.

Harry snorted, picking up a smaller box and dropping gracelessly onto his bed. It was almost humiliating how long it had taken him to make the connection.

Back in the adoption centre, they had celebrated Christmas, but much less extravagantly than what Hogwarts has done. If they were lucky, they were given small presents of second-hand toys or clothes. It was the other children’s favourite time of the year, but Harry never cared for festivities. Nevertheless, it would be interesting to see what the other students have chosen to gift him.

The amount of presents he has received was staggering, but only a few stood out amongst the rest. 

The vast majority were Honeydukes sweets and stationery sets from students from other Houses who he only occasionally spoke to in classes who were probably attempting to get into his good graces. The Slytherins knew him much better, having all gotten him obscure books and magical objects, most of which were of questionable nature.

Draco’s gift came in the form of three thick volumes baring the Malfoy family insignia. It seemed that the Malfoy heir has taken his comment at the party to heart, for all three were written on the subject of elixirs, the theory behind their creation, and their various uses.

Blaise sent a small chest filled with an assortment of glass vials. Harry’s brow shot up upon discovering over two dozen flasks of powerful potions or lethal venoms, half of which bordered on the illegal.

_Mother sends her regards_ , the Zabini heir’s note read. Harry smirked at the words when he remembered who exactly Blaise’s mother was and what she was famed for, before carefully closing the case and pushing it aside.

Theodore gave him two nondescript looking chests which he called “vanishing cabinets” in his letter alongside a novella that explained their proper uses.

Daphne had sent him a gift card to _Flourish & Blotts_ worth 100 galleons. He hadn’t even expected the Greengrass heiress to send anything at all. 

Pansy Parkinson, as well, pleasantly surprised him with her gift of a “Hand of Glory”. As her curt letter stated, it was given in hopes of lessening the chances of Harry getting caught in his nighttime escapades and Slytherin losing house points.

Miles Bletchley gave him the newest racing broom model, of all things. But he shrugged and placed it with the other gifts he was planning on keeping. Who knew when he would need a convenient and untraceable way of travel. 

The final parcel was wrapped in a dull brown paper and only came with a short note that didn’t name the sender. 

_Your father left this in my possession. Use it well_. 

Harry stared expressionlessly down at the note for a moment before closing his fist around it. He let his hand drop, flakes of ash drifting to the floorboards as his fingers loosened. Why did the Headmaster have something of his, and why did he only bother sending it now?

The older wizard’s spidery handwriting was terribly conspicuous. If he thought that by leaving out his name, he was able to somehow remain behind a veil of anonymity, he was sorely mistaken.

However, Harry’s displeasure siphoned off as soon as he draped the cloth over his shoulders.

Seeing his own body vanish from beneath him was one of the most peculiar experiences of his life. 

_An invisibility cloak_ , he breathed in awe.

He’s read about them, naturally, but he never thought he would ever hold one in real life. Most of the ones in existence would barely last a few months before their effects faded. If Dumbledore was being truthful, then the cloak would have to be at least a decade old.

Harry stroked a hand along the silky material, revelling in the ancient magic that thrummed beneath his fingertips. It was a powerful magical artefact, without a doubt.

Possibilities flashed before his eyes, too many for him to count. If he could move undetected through Hogwart’s halls…

A razor-edged smile split his lips and he headed for the stairs, piles of presents forgotten. Regardless of intentions, Dumbledore had just unknowingly done him an enormous favour.

Hogwarts has been more or less handed to him on a silver platter, and he wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

Now, without risking being caught unprepared, he could fully traverse Hogwarts unseen. His first destination was already set before he even stepped beyond the Common Room doors. There was only one place where he could find the information he needed.

Harry pulled up the hood of the cloak as the Slytherin entrance pulled close behind him, shifting back into a bare wall. He was headed back to the restricted section.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of studying for my exam tomorrow and now it's 3 am...
> 
> Next time-Harry finds the Mirror of the Erised and makes a discovery. A duel is issued and tension grows amidst Slytherin...
> 
> Note: the First Year will be wrapped up in 2-3 chapters! After it's finished, I will be taking some time to edit everything I have before posting the second book! (I'm very excited for the Chamber of Secrets...I already have most of it planned, so stay tuned!)
> 
> Also, please let me know what you think! I don't have a beta, so I'm relying on you guys to catch any plot holes or inconsistencies!
> 
> Cheers!


	9. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes a midnight stroll and finally begins to piece everything together...
> 
> Draco is increasingly frustrated....
> 
> And Hogwart's hard earned and tentative peace is once again shaken.....

Roaming the grounds of Hogwarts beneath the cover of his new cloak was a much different experience than sneaking through the corridors at night. Harry slunk past the stone gargoyles, up the flights of stairs, and past a scowling Filch. 

Ms. Norris’s yellow eyes followed his movement, but at the slightest spike of his magic, she hissed and recoiled. He grinned. It was amusing how the cat was the nightmare of practically every Hogwarts curfew breaker was inexplicably terrified of Harry. It worked in his favour, though, so Harry simply shrugged it off.

The skies were dark outside and Harry knew that it was in the early hours just after midnight. His shoulder bag was weighed down by the few volumes that he had taken from the Restricted Section, detailing all sorts of wondrous and mysterious magical objects that have been created over the years. 

He knew that he was close. And his instincts have never led him wrong before.

There was still half the school year left, and Harry was sure that he could have the mystery cracked by then, with time to spare. The corners of his lips curled upwards. Whoever thought it a good idea to secrete a powerful artefact within a school filled with inquisitive children…they would soon be one artefact short.

He gave a languid stretch as he neared the stairwell that would take him down below the castle and towards the Slytherin dungeons. The blanketing magic of Hogwarts whipped around him, as if in response to his own suppressed anticipation.

Then, a subtle, but impressive, pulse of something brushed against his arm. His drifting attention was suddenly snapped back, and he paused, gaze falling upon a nondescript door several steps ahead. The sensation was a strange one. He edged closer, savouring the magic that held a timeless, ancient sort of quality that was not unlike that of the Greengrass Wards.

He crept to the door and slipped through, and the moment he stepped over the threshold, he felt the full onslaught of the mesmerizing magic that saturated the room. It caressed his bare skin, laced with unspoken promises and a dark, underlying current that threatened to pull anyone who fell to its charm deeper under.

Harry released a faint breath. 

_No_. This was nothing like the wards had been. It would be more accurate to label the two as counterparts-an antithesis, of sorts. 

Whilst the Greengrass wards had been staunch, unyielding in its purpose to protect, the magic that he now felt was seductive, enticing, and seeking to _ruin_.

The room was empty, save for a mirror that stood in its direct centre. Harry’s eyes glinted as he took in the sight. He walked forward slowly, letting the hood of his invisibility cloak to slip down and pool at his shoulders.

After a long minute, he finally stood before the innocuously seeming mirror, staring into its blurred surface. He slipped off the cloak, and watched as the fog dispersed from the reflection. But it was not himself that was shown in the mirror. In fact, it was not a person at all. 

Instead, he found himself staring across the black lake at the entirety of the Hogwarts castle, before the scene shifted, flying through its many halls, up the ever-changing stairwells, through unused classrooms and long aisles of bookshelves. The corridors were strangely empty, void of students, professors, and even ghosts.

Harry’s head tilted, eyes focusing in upon the scene when it slowed, entering the room that he was in, and eventually faded away into a mere reflection of himself, staring back with gleaming eyes. Only then, did his stare shift upwards to the line of letters carved within the mirror’s frame.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

A cipher, Harry realized.

“I show not your face but your heart’s desire,” he read, soft voice seeming deafening in the quiet of the room.

“That is rather clever of you, my boy.”

Harry started as the Dumbledore’s voice sounded behind him. A pang of annoyance coursed through him as he realized that somehow, the man had managed to catch him unaware.

Normally, the Headmaster’s presence was one that was impossible to miss, especially with the raw and roiling magic that usually swirled about his person. However, it seemed that even his power couldn't quite contest the aged magic of the mirror.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry turned as the bespectacled wizard stepped up behind him, eyes twinkling merrily away. “I didn’t know you were there, sir.”

“I’d be impressed if you did,” Dumbledore smiled kindly, “There are other ways of going invisible without that cloak of yours.”

At the reminder of the cloak, Harry calmed. That’s right-it was Dumbledore that had gifted it to him, so the man must have meant for him to explore the castle unperturbed. Perhaps he had even meant for Harry to come across this exact room. The thought added to his ire. That seemed entirely like something that the Headmaster would do. 

“Sir, I-”

“There’s no need to explain, my dear boy,” Dumbledore hummed, turning his attention to the mirror. “I see, like many before you, you have discovered the delights of the Mirror of the Erised.”

“The Mirror of Erised?”

“I wonder, Harry,” Dumbledore turned twinkling eyes upon him. “What do you see?”

Harry looked back into the mirror and saw his own reflection, just as he had before. However, there was no sign of Dumbledore hovering behind him. He still stood there, alone in the empty expanse of Hogwarts. His reflection smirked and winked before dissipating.

After a long minute of silence, Harry turned, meeting blue eyes with his own. “I see home, sir.”

“Ah, yes,” the wizened wizard sighed wistfully. “Home. A wise thing to yearn for, for one as young as yourself.”

“So that’s what it shows, then?” Harry asked thoughtfully. “What you desire?”

“Hmm, that is certainly one way to put it,” Dumbledore said. “It shows nothing short of the deepest desire of our hearts. But it shows neither knowledge nor truth- only the obsession of the beholder. Even the greatest of witches and wizards have fallen victim to its thrall. Many have turned their backs on reality, driven mad by the sight of what _could be_.”

Harry paused, taking in the words. “What do you see when you look into the mirror, sir?”

He watched as Dumbledore stared past him and into the mirror, a flicker of emotion passing over his features. He hasn’t had the time to answer before Harry spoke up once more.

“Never mind,” he retracted, lips curling upward. Dumbledore looked back at him in surprise. “My best friends are Slytherins. I know a deflection when I see one coming.”

Dumbledore’s expression grew complicated, but he gave a smile nonetheless.

They stood together, neither speaking as the time passed. Finally, Harry shifted, breaking the silence. “May I be excused?” He pulled his cloak around himself once more, then added, as if as an afterthought. “Sir?” 

Dumbledore started. “Very well, my boy. But there is one last thing. The mirror will soon be moved to a new home, and I must urge you not to seek it out again, for it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem, sir,” Harry grinned widely, pulling the hood of the cloak overtop his head. “Goodnight.”

He left the Headmaster to his thoughts, heading out into the halls.

 

 

* * *

 

When Draco returned to Hogwarts, it was to the relieving sight of an intact Slytherin Common Room. One could never know when it came to Harry Potter. 

It was breakfast, and it seemed that Hogwarts had finally returned to the calm before the Greengrass incident. That night now appeared to be a thing of the past, practically forgotten once no further incidents followed.

Draco sighed as he strolled into the Great Hall, and sat himself across from Harry and beside Pansy. The latter gave him a nod of acknowledgement, but the former seemed unaware of his arrival.

A long minute passed, and he fidgeted at the silence that fell so rarely whenever Potter is in the near vicinity. That morning, however, the other Slytherin seemed to be paying no mind to anything at all except for the book spread out before him. He was flipping through it with undivided interest, expression so utterly solemn that Draco was reminded of the day that they had met, when he had mistook him for a Black.

“If this isn’t a rare sight,” Pansy raised a brow at Draco. “Harry Potter studying.”

“Studying?” Draco echoed, and Potter’s gaze drifted up to meet his own, eyes hauntingly green.

The boy smiled crookedly, tilting the volume upwards so he could read the title.

_Magical Artefacts and Their Uses: A Comprehensive Guide_.

“What were you expecting?” Harry’s smile broadened when Draco gave no reply. “ _Magik Most Evile_?”

Draco spluttered while the other returned his attention to his readings.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Pansy muttered darkly.

“Why are you reading about magical artefacts?” Draco asked curiously. When he garnered no reply, he turned to Pansy, frustration etched clearly upon his face.

“Don’t bother,” the Parkinson heiress scoffed. “He was like that when I came down this morning. Even the Hufflepuffs weren’t able to get more than a short greeting out of him. Just enjoy the silence while it lasts.”

Draco gave his friend another glance before slumping forward. “This is such a bore,” he complained. “I don’t even know what’s worse-Potter wreaking havoc across Hogwarts or…this.”

“Well, I certainly do,” Pansy rolled her eyes. “Besides, I think it’s funny. Almost reminds you of _Granger_ , doesn’t he?”

Draco stiffened at the name. Pansy caught herself a moment too late, shrinking back from the palpable tension that befell them. 

In Slytherin, it had become an unspoken rule that the name _Hermione Granger_ was not to be mentioned around Harry Potter. It was one of the few things that could incur him genuine ire, though Draco wasn’t entirely clear on the reasoning behind it. The two haven’t been close before-quite the contrary, actually. In fact, if the troll hadn’t gotten to her first, Draco was almost certain that Potter would’ve done something about her himself.

Luckily for Pansy, her slip-up went unheeded with the arrival of the morning mail. A cacophony of hoots and screeches filled the Great Hall and Draco had to move his plate to make space for his own eagle owl. It dropped a creamed coloured envelope on his lap alongside a parcel before taking off once more.

Draco stared at the package and letter bearing the familiar and elegant scrawl that could only have come from his mother. He opened the package first, hands moving deftly to peel off the wrapping paper. It was a limited edition set of wizard’s chess that he had been eyeing for some time now, but he couldn’t be in a more unpleasant mood. 

He scowled as if the items have personally offended him. 

It didn’t take much thinking to guess that the questions that he has sent home went unanswered- if it was information he was receiving, his mother would never think it necessary include a consolation alongside her message.

It was irritating, to say the least. More than anything, Draco hated being uninformed. Forewarned is forearmed, especially within Slytherin. So, he has always made it a point to know as much as he can about anything that could potentially affect him in any way.

But this year, he could feel himself slipping. There have already several surprises too many, and whatever meagre information he did gather always seem to come one step too late. And it wasn’t from a lack of trying. 

Oh, no. Draco tried- _Merlin_ , did he try. But no amount of pestering or bargaining seemed to be getting him anything of value. 

At the moment, even his parents were keeping suspiciously tightlipped when it came to anything concerning recent affairs. A part of him knew that they wouldn’t keep anything crucial from him if they didn’t think it might endanger him in some way, but being kept in the dark was still endlessly frustrating.

He turned his attention to Pansy to see if she was faring any better. He knew that she had been exchanging letters with Daphne, but if she was to be believed, her letters have been returning unopened since nearly two weeks ago. Seeing his exasperation mirrored in her expression, he deflated.

The Parkinson heiress opened her mouth to speak, but then she paused, eyes widening. Draco barely had the time to duck before a burst of wind brushed past the top of his head. They both turned incredulous eyes upon the creature that had nearly ruined his carefully slicked-back hair.

It was a screech owl, and probably the oldest one that Draco has ever seen. The dreadful thing gave a croaking hoot, looking dazedly around the table before waddling over to _Potter_. Then, under Draco’s bewildered gaze, Harry Potter’s eyes lit up delightfully as if his birthday has come early.

Draco and Pansy exchanged a look of bemusement. Harry, meanwhile, tore into his letter, unperturbed even as the owl drank directly out of his goblet.

“Who’s that from?” Pansy cracked, unable to hold back her questions any longer. It might’ve been funny at one point to see the Parkinson heiress’s features scrunched up in annoyance, had Draco not been plagued by the same sense of curiosity.

“A new acquaintance,” Potter murmured. His gaze never wandered from the page. Draco shifted uncomfortably as his housemate’s smile grew sharper, taking on that subtly dangerous quality that he has come to associate with Harry Potter. 

Whatever could inspire such an expression in someone as unflappable as Potter couldn’t possibly be anything good, Draco decided.

“This is ridiculous,” Pansy tossed her own letters onto the tabletop, glowering.

Draco sympathized. 

Before either of them could say another word, Potter stood. Emerald eyes scanned the Great Hall, before an uncharacteristic frown flickered across the boy’s face. “Where’s Professor Dumbledore? Or Professor Flitwick?”

“ _Dumbledore_?” Draco repeated, as if in disbelief as to why anyone could _possibly_ have reasons to seek out the cracked headmaster. He looked reflexively towards the staff table, and was thrown off by what he saw. “Oh.”

“That’s strange,” Pansy mused, practically speaking his thoughts aloud. “There are quite a few professors absent today.”

Now that she mentioned it, it was rather unusual. Among the absentees were Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Quirrell, as well as Dumbledore himself.

“No matter, then,” Potter muttered, folding the letter and tucking it back within his robes. However, he didn’t sit back down, instead opting to bent forward to flip through his book. 

“What do you think happened?” Pansy asked.

“Something big, probably,” Draco exhaled, scowl deepening.

While it wasn’t unheard of for professors to miss meals, it _was_ suspicious to say the least for both the headmaster and vice headmistress, alongside the professors of the core curriculum, to not be present.

The scene reminded him once more of how wholly uninformed he was at the moment. By the current trend, half the school will probably have heard of it before whatever ‘it’ was reaches his ears.

Almost as if in response to his thoughts, the doors to the Great Hall flew open and Blaise stumbled through, making a beeline for the Slytherin table. Draco felt a trickle of unease as the normally graceful Zabini heir came up to them, out of breath.

“Well?” Draco demanded, barely keeping his impatience from his tone. “Spit it out, then.”

Blaise didn’t need to be told twice. “It’s Rosier.” He breathed in deep, attempting to even out his breath. “He’s awake.

 

 

* * *

 

Miles Bletchley held his breath and count to ten, before carefully schooling his expression into one of perfect nonchalance. 

He prayed to Salazar that the news of Rosier’s untimely recovery hasn’t spread far-once it gets around, he would be at the centre of attention, both as Rosier’s ‘friend’ and as the sole witness to the confrontation that had taken place between him and Potter.

At the thought of the Potter heir, Miles felt the telltale signs of an oncoming migraine.

Sometimes, he wondered if the boy had planned out his every move down to the minute. He was hardly guileless enough to believe that the Greengrass affair had nothing to do with Harry Potter. And now, when the last whispers of that mess were beginning to fade away, the Pureblood circles will be given another subject to gossip about.

A part of him suspected that the entirety of Wizarding Britain will be so busy scampering to work through the collateral damage of Potter’s actions, that by the time they realized it, Harry Potter will have already taken over the world. It was a ridiculous thought, but not an unrealistic one.

Luckily enough, his entrance of the Great Halls went largely unnoticed by the other students. But not entirely.

When he caught little Draco Malfoy’s frantic stare, he didn’t waste a second before sauntering over. The last thing he would want to happen is for the impatient Malfoy heir to draw attention to the matter before nearly every student in the school. If that meant subjecting himself to the boy’s interrogation, then so be it.

“Malfoy,” he tipped his head. “Zabini, Parkinson.” He faltered at the sight of Potter, fanatically pouring over an aged volume and seemingly unfazed by the recent news. “Potter.”

Murmured greetings were returned by the others, but his words went unheard by Harry Potter.

“Bletchley,” Draco said, voice strained. “Have you heard?”

“About Rosier?” Miles corked a brow. “Of course.” He settled down between Malfoy and a haggard-looking Blaise Zabini. “What about it?”

For a brief moment, Draco seemed speechless. Then, his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘ _what about it’_? Surely you were there if you already know of it. Isn’t he your friend?”

“He _was_ ,” Miles emphasized, glancing at Potter, “I only knew because I heard the professors discussing it outside the hospital wing. They were doing some final check-ups to ensure there’s no residue left from the curse.”

“Don’t even try,” Parkinson said drily, noting the direction of his gaze. “Potter’s been lugging around that thing ever since coming down from the dorms.”

Miles blinked, waiting for elaboration. 

However, Draco’s focus was elsewhere. “Why didn’t you go in?” He pushed on. “Aren’t you curious as to what happened?”

“No. In case you’ve forgotten, _I was there_ , so I already know exactly what happened. Besides, there is no point. I have nothing to say to him.”

“Draco, just let it go,” the Zabini heir muttered. He seemed to be the only one with enough instincts to realize that they were treading on thin ice.

Miles’ line of sight fell once again towards Harry Potter. The boy would normally be privy to even the subtlest of stares cast his way, but that day, he was distracted-

Distracted enough to not even move a muscle when the unexpectedly perceptive Parkinson heiress exclaimed, “Does this have anything to do with Potter?” Dark eyes glinted with a triumphant light. “Potter _is_ behind that incident, isn’t he?”

“Stop talking nonsense,” Zabini cut her off, words laced with warning. The Pureblood’s glare was bordering on murderous. His loyalty to Potter was surprising, but not unexpected. Considering the boy spent the majority of his waking hours with the Potter heir, it would have been more shocking if he had been unaffected by the other’s charm.

Still, Miles found himself grateful to the first-year. “Zabini’s right, Parkinson. You should watch yourself. There’s a time and place for everything. It would do well for you to learn.”

In other words, _don’t piss off Potter_.

That was quickly becoming the Golden Rule amongst the younger snakes. Or, at least, to the ones with a stronger sense of self-preservation.

However, the girl only rolled her eyes, letting the reprimand fly right past her head. Miles wasn’t sure whether she was brave or foolhardy, and he didn’t care to find out.

“Oh, please,” she sniffed. “Don’t be absurd. Potter can’t even hear a word we’re saying right now.” She jerked her chin towards the thoroughly engrossed boy to make her point.

Miles saw bothMalfoy’s and Zabini’s lips thin at their friend’s impulsive recklessness, but his own mask was too practiced to let slip hints of his own exasperation. If the Parkinson heiress refuses to heed their words, then on her head be it. There were only so many chances one’d get in Slytherin.

“Harry has nothing to do with this,” Miles said instead, using the other’s first name. It was an explicit message on his part, alerting the others of his allegiance and acting as a deterrence for any further incrimination of the Potter heir. “Rosier was too imprudent, and his injuries were the result of his own carelessness. Now he alone will face the consequences.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Draco frowned.

Miles smiled wryly. “No. It’s just simple politics.”

At that moment, Potter shot up, snapping his book shut with a startling _thump_. Miles flinched at the unexpected movement, but found himself stilling when caught in two pools of staggering green.

Potter straightened, eyes widened and shimmering behind locks of dark bangs. Curious glances were being directed his way from around the room, but he didn’t seem to notice at all. 

An emotion danced across his face, one that Miles had never seen since meeting the boy, one of pure, unadulterated joy. It was such a fleeting thing that he’d almost thought that he had imagined it, but the sheer brilliance that shone through in that short moment convinced him otherwise.

Potter stepped back absent-mindedly. A string of incoherent words left his lips, too soft and too fast for anyone to catch. Miles could almost see the storm of thoughts that occupied the boy’s mind. He could pinpoint the exact moment when they fell together, fitting perfectly together into a completed puzzle.

Then, Potter _laughed_. The sound seemingly bubbled up within him, spilling out and filling the expanse of the Great Hall. It was sharp, chilling, and, as was with everything else Potter did, utterly intoxicating. 

Without further preamble, Harry Potter draped his bag over his shoulder and left. A dazed silence reigned following his departure, unbroken until-

“Well, that settles it,” Parkinson declared. “He’s finally gone mad.”

Draco looked too shaken to give a response.

It was as good a time for escape as any, and Miles was never one for missed opportunities. He swung his leg over the bench and stood in one fluid motion, patting the blonde on the shoulder as he did.

“Nice chat,” he said. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be off.”

Before the other could utter a word, he was already halfway across the Great Hall.

 

 

* * *

 

“I need you to be perfectly honest with me. What _exactly_ happened? What is the last thing that you remember?”

The bitter odour of Skele-gro saturated the air, and Alois Rosier briefly thought that he could taste it with every shallow breath that he drew. The pale stream of morning light pouring through the windows cast the Hospital Wing in an eerie glow, and the white curtains and bed linings only made it all worse.

He stared dazedly ahead, leaving the question unanswered. With the half-a-dozen professors crowding around him, he wasn’t sure who had been the one to ask. Not that he could have answered, anyway. 

Not when he himself couldn’t quite piece together the fragments of memories that flitted past his mind, just beyond his grasp. Even when he employed the full extent of his Legilimency and Occlumency training and focused in on his scattered thoughts, all he could remember were jumbled words, snatches of killing-curse green, a spike of emotion that he couldn’t quite decipher, and then…a burst of that horrible, _horrible_ pain, as if his blood has turned to ice, and his bones were eroding from within.

There was also the throbbing at his temples and an aching heaviness to his limbs that made it difficult to think at all.

The professors clustered around his bed were speaking in hushed tones, most likely debating on the extent of damage that had been done, or what course of action to take next. He let the unintelligible murmurs wash over him, too tired to listen in.

“…young Mr. Potter…”

He stiffened, bile rising to the back of his throat at the mere mention of the name.

_Potter_ , he recalled. It was Potter that had been with him. Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, spawn of a blood traitor and a mudblood, the _filthy_ \- His body seized all at once and it became difficult to breathe as it all came back to him.

That cruel smile etched within an angelic face, that overwhelming magic that _demanded_ submission, and-and-

Beyond all else, that cold, unfeeling shine set within the depth of his emerald eyes.

It was then that he realized he could put finally put a name to the unknown emotion he had felt: _awe_. Terrified, fearful awe, but awe nonetheless.

“ _Alois._ ” He shuddered as that terrible, lilting voice whispered within his mind. “ _Alois…_ ”

“-Alois!” He jolted, head snapping up.

Albus Dumbledore peered back at him, face lined with concern and eyes free of their usual twinkle. “Alois, my boy. Are you feeling unwell?”

The voice quieted and faded from his mind, but he could still feel its presence looming over him like a dark shadow, claws sunk deep within the confines of his mind.

“I-” His voice cracked, and he swallowed. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid my memories’ still somewhat unclear.”

He averted his eyes as the professors exchanged glances. A long minute passed where no one spoke, and he basked in the silence. He felt his agitated magic settle somewhat, though not entirely.

“My boy,” Dumbledore began. “If there’s anything you ever wish to tell me…”

“I understand,” Alois steeled his mind, mental walls snapping up as he met the headmaster’s eyes. “Thank you, but I’m alright.”

The other wizard seemed unconvinced, but he eventually relented, giving a soft nod. “Then we’ll leave you to rest, for now.”

“Headmaster-” It was Professor Snape who spoke, a steeliness to his voice. But whatever words he had seemed to die within his throat as Dumbledore levelled a particularly severe look upon him.

For the first time in his life, Alois found himself thankful to the waffling old man. The last thing he needed was having to answer more questions, especially as he had the faintest sensation that Professor Snape knows exactly what had transpired between him and Potter. 

“Try to get some rest, Mr. Rosier,” Madam Pomfrey sighed once the horde of professors had left. He mutedly nodded, downing the vial that she handed to him before she has even finished her explanations.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the gleaming pair of green that his mind conjured. Before the potion-induced sleep claimed him, he thought he heard a crackling, mocking laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my wonder readers-
> 
> Sorry about the long wait! It seems that real life has finally managed to catch up to me and the past few weeks have just been a hectic ride. Also, I am currently within the hell that is the Final Exam Season 
> 
> (my math finals are tomorrow...wish me luck :') )
> 
> But on the plus side, it's almost the winter holidays, which means I'll soon have a surplus of time on my hands! And what better use to put it to than to work on my fics?
> 
> So...more timely updates can be expected within this month!
> 
> On a side note, I finally caved to my friends' naggings and got a Tumblr account! If you have any questions, or want updates/previews of my fics, or want to chat, catch me at:
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theslytherinprefect
> 
> I'm horrible with social media platforms, so please give me time to work around all the functions, haha.
> 
> That's the 9th chapter! The first year is quickly coming to a close...
> 
> Until next time!


	10. Concessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, a big shout-out and thank-you to my wonderful new Beta-reader (for both “Paradoxical Parallels” and “Harry Potter and the Legacy of Magic”), TheRogueHuntress! Chapter quality has risen exponentially thanks to her edits and suggestions. Check out her page at https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRogueHuntress for some quality writing! 
> 
> Now for the (very brief) chapter summary:
> 
> Harry finally makes his move, but the unexpected happens…

Harry stood, staring into the killing-curse-green eyes that mirrored his own. The echoes of a lyrical melody still echoed in his mind, his cheek still itched with a cut inflicted by coppery wings, and ice still burned in his veins. But none of those things were important. They didn’t _matter_. Not in the face of this. 

Slowly, Harry raised his hand. The figure opposite him did the same, face taut with an intense curiosity. When their palms met, Harry felt the coolness of glass seep through his fingertips. 

A hum of ancient magic swirled around the chamber. He stood immobile, one hand on his wand and the other outstretched.

For the brief flash of a second, he caught a ruby red glint, hidden away behind the last hurdle that was none other than himself. 

Harry’s brows furrowed, and he saw it mirrored back at him. The glossy surface no longer showed the expanse of Hogwarts. In fact, it showed nothing at all, except his own reflection. Exactly as he was, with nothing out of the ordinary.

It made no sense.

Could this be the only diversion? Was there something else? Harry glanced about the room. His new cloak lay near a pillar, cast aside in his frustration. Tongues of flames flickered out from the deep-set hollows along the walls, casting the hall in a warm golden glow. A touch of his magic was enough to confirm that neither the stone floors, walls, nor ceilings were coated with any additional charms.

So all that was left was the mirror. Nothing else.

Harry’s breath stuttered as he closed his eyes, feeling the tendrils of Albus Dumbledore’s magic layered over the more potent one of the Mirror of the Erised. He focused, felt, and _pulled_.

A sense of jubilation washed through him as he felt something gave way. There was the splintering of glass, a crack of wood, a glimmer of ruby—

But the joy went as soon as it had come. He knew he had failed before—

A surge of power sent him flying. He barely had the time to coat his limbs with his own magic before he was tossed into the air.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Draco Malfoy frowned — because he’d be damned before admitting to doing something as barbarically common as _pouting_. 

He was not in the greatest of moods, and he had every right to be.

Harry Potter was absent. It was already early morning — half past five, to be precise — yet one bed in their dormitory remained empty. The covers were smoothed out perfectly and the curtains were drawn up, and frankly, it looked as if no one had ever slept in it before. 

The black haired and green eyed enigma didn’t have much by way of personal belongings, but Draco had never felt it so acutely until that moment. While his own signed and limited edition Quidditch poster hung above his trunk, Blaise’s drawer top was littered with messily labelled vials, and Theodore’s shelves were filled to the brim with tattered volumes. Potter’s corner, however, was immaculately… _clean_.

That was the only way to put it.

The walls were bare, the closet was empty, and the only sign that the space was even occupied was a nondescript trunk pushed against the wall. Even that seemed to lack any personal identifiers.

Draco huffed, pushing aside his duvet and abandoning all hope of getting a few more hours of sleep. 

He’d admit that Harry Potter was beginning to occupy too large a portion of his thoughts to be considered healthy, but it really wasn’t his fault when the boy was so bloody irritating. Potter seemed insistent upon defying all expectations, consciously or not. 

Nearly the entirety of Slytherin had lurked about the Common Room for the better part of the previous evening in the hope of catching Potter’s reaction to Rosier’s recovery. In fact, Alois himself had stood near the entrance, looking uncomfortable and more than a touch afraid. Draco wasn’t clear on what he had planned on doing — apologize? Beg for forgiveness? But he had been one of the few who had stayed up past midnight waiting for the elusive Potter, only for the other to not even show up. 

Draco scowled, mood further plummeting at the memory. 

Where could he possibly be? It was a weekday night, _for the love of Merlin_ , and Slytherins had a Potions practical scheduled for the next day. Surely even Potter couldn’t brew a flawless Sleeping Draught after pulling an all-nighter. And wasn’t that ironic?

The soft creaking of the dorm door had Draco’s head snapping up. But all of the words he had so carefully prepared fell straight out of his mind when he took in the sight before him. He knew he was gawking, but at that moment, it was a perfectly justifiable reaction. 

Harry Potter leaned heavily against the wall. His hair was even messier than usual and his face was marred with soot. His robes were practically in tatters, and Draco didn’t even want to know what could possibly shred the sturdy Hogwarts uniform to such an extent. The worst of it, though, was the _blood_. 

It ran down Harry’s cheek in a thin trickle, smudged along his chin, and soaked the sleeves of his white shirt. He was obviously favouring one leg, and was cradling his right arm delicately to his chest, along with a wrapped package of some sort, but Draco couldn't find it in himself to inquire about that when— when— 

Harry swayed dangerously, yet somehow still managed to limp over to his bed without toppling over. As he neared, Draco could hear his strained breaths and see the occasional wince flash past his features. His natural elegance was now barely noticeable, offset by a stiffness to his movements. 

Draco gaped openly. 

Harry Potter all but collapsed atop the bed. Only when the curtains fell closed and obscured his bloodied figure from view, did Draco numbly sit back down. 

_What in the name of Salazar had he just seen ?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you certain?” Blaise gave him a pointed look across the table. They were one of the few in the Common Room, courtesy of the early hours. But even so, they spoke in lowered tones. One could never be too cautious when discussing such delicate matters. 

“Yes,” Draco hissed for the umpteenth time. He was beginning to grow impatient. Why was Zabini questioning what he had personally seen? He hadn’t been driven insane by Potter, _yet_.

“But what could have possibly happened?” Blaise questioned, speaking aloud the same question running through Draco’s mind on repeat up to that moment. “Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?” 

‘ _Like you often tend to do ’_ went unsaid, but Draco decided to let it slide in favour of more important matters. 

“You didn’t see it,” he whispered. “It was… _grotesque_. Blimey, I’ve never seen so much blood in my life. Even counting that time with Rosier. And his expression — the way he walked —”

Something in his features must have convinced the other boy, for Blaise’s disbelieving stare melted into something heavier and more serious. They sat together in companionable silence, eyes downcast.

“I swear, nothing short of ambling through the Forbidden Forest could’ve done… _that_.” Draco’s face twisted.

Blaise stilled, gaze questioning. “Do you think that was what he did?”

“No. Potter may be half-raving, but he never acts without reason. Everything he does…it always work out in his favour.”

“And if what he needed was in the Forbidden Forest?”

Draco wrinkled his nose, showing exactly what he thought of that suggestion. But faced with Blaise’s unrelenting stare, he sighed. “Yes. Well, I suppose. _Yes_. If he truly wanted something, I doubt anyone or anything could stand in his way.”

He suddenly halted, hand pausing mid-wave. “When he came in this morning…” he began slowly, “he was carrying something. I couldn’t see what it was, but…knowing Potter…” 

He drifted off, but Blaise had gotten the point. The Zabini heir sat up straighter, a sharp alertness to his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “You think that’s what it was for?” 

“It has to be,” Draco murmured. His eyes darted towards the stairwell as a few upper years walked out. “We should talk about this later. When it’s safer.”

Blaise nodded in silent agreement. Draco saw something flash in the other boy’s eyes, then suddenly, his sleeve was being grasped. He looked back bemusedly.

“Listen, Draco...” Blaise licked his lips nervously. “You can’t let Theo know.”

Draco felt a pang of annoyance. Who was Blaise to dictate who he could or could not tell? But he pushed it down. “Why?”

“You’ve seen how Theo defends Potter,” Blaise muttered, lowering his voice as a few Slytherins passed by. “I don’t know what Potter did, but Theo seems to be grateful to him, _for something_ . And knowing him, he’ll try to help if he thinks Potter is in a spot of trouble.” He paused, eyes flickering up to meet Draco’s. “You saw the state Potter was in. If even _he_ barely got out alive, it’s probably nothing that we should meddle in.”

Draco nodded sluggishly, the implications only beginning to sink in. 

“Don’t tell Theo.” 

“Alright,” he promised, shoulders sagging. “Oh, bollocks.” The undignified swear word felt foreign passing through his lips. “What have I gotten myself into?” 

Blaise gazed at him sympathetically, a wry twist to his lips. Draco wondered if there was enough time for him to find some upper year to obliviate him. When it came to Potter, a recurring theme seemed to be ‘  _the less you know the better_ ’. 

Hopefully, it would all blow past, and _soon_. But a part of Draco knew that attitude was hopeless. When Potter was involved, nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. 

“Come on,” Blaise stood and stretched lethargically. He straightened his tie and turned to Draco. “Let’s head to breakfast.”

Draco pushed himself up reluctantly, casting a glance back towards the door leading to the first year dorms. “Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” 

Blaise rolled his eyes, draping his outer robes over his shoulders. “Theo already left. And going by what you said, Potter should’ve just gotten back. He probably won’t be up anytime soon.”

He made a good point. Besides, that left only Pansy, and Draco wasn’t sure if he could handle one of her moods right then. 

“Oh, alright,” Draco grumbled, following Blaise out the dungeons. Neither of them spoke much on the way, both lost in their own thoughts. 

It was still early when they arrived, and they chose a spot further down the table. Draco stared dolefully at the luxurious spread of breakfast items before him. His stomach rumbled, but all thoughts of eating flew right out of his mind when he recalled the bloodied scene from that morning. 

Blaise didn’t seem to have the same problem. He grabbed a plate and began to eat, while Draco watched enviously. Sighing, Draco poured himself a cup of tea. He was certain that it was the only thing he could keep down at the moment.

As the minutes ticked by, the Great Hall began to fill. When Pansy and Theodore joined them, Draco forced himself to act as he normally did, and take part in their usual banter. At first, it felt stiff and unnatural. But as time wore on, Draco found that the mindless gossip actually helped keep his mind off the morning’s event. It was a small mercy.

But of course, just as he gave in to the delusion that nothing was wrong, the doors to the Great Hall swung open to reveal Potter…and Rosier. Nothing short of the Pureblood mannerisms his mother had painstakingly ingrained into him kept him spurting out his mouthful of tea. Seeing the two walking side by side was absurd, considering the tension that had fizzled between the two during their last public interaction. But now, they almost appeared to be on amiable terms. Before, Draco couldn’t have imagined Alois Rosier being _amiable_ to anyone still within Hogwarts, never mind a lower year. 

How the times had changed.

When the two walked closer, Draco’s scrutiny fell upon Potter. He was flawlessly dressed in a newly ironed pair of robes, complete with buttoned vest and straightened tie. His eyes were aglow with their usual mirth that held the faintest trace of ridicule, as if he knew something that no one else did. There wasn’t a trace of grime or blood anywhere on the boy and his hair was back in its regular mopping mess. 

Merlin, Potter was _good_. 

Had the shock not been as great as it had been, Draco might’ve even thought that he had imagined the entirety of the events that morning. But as things stood, it was something that Draco knew he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. And so, he analyzed Potter’s every move with critical eyes and found…nothing. 

There wasn’t anything out of the norm.

Harry Potter, for good or worse, was back to being his graceful, cheery self. 

Draco resolutely ignored the dubious looks Blaise was casting his way. It was unbelievable. As a matter of fact, Potter seemed even _lighter_ than he had for the past few weeks. He was less distracted, more relaxed. He looked nothing like the boy that had stumbled into the Slytherin dorms half-dead only a few hours ago. With a glance, even the keenest wouldn’t be able to tell the boy hadn’t slept even for the wink the previous night. 

“You should join us for breakfast, Alois,” Harry offered magnanimously as they came to a stop beside Blaise and Pansy.

Alois slipped into the seat opposite of Harry’s without missing a beat. “Sure.” His voice was still somewhat hoarse from disuse, and even with his perfected Pureblood mask, Draco was still able to see the flash of fear when Harry smiled a little too widely.

“Where were you yesterday?” Pansy, as untactful as always, dove right into the very topic Draco was hoping they’d be able to avoid.

Potter’s head tilted, a dangerous sharpness to his gaze and—

_No_. Draco inhaled deeply. He was reading too much into the other boy’s actions. Potter was acting as he normally did, all secrecy and false mockery.

“Out,” was the enigmatic reply as he stood and filled his plate with toast, scrambled eggs, sausages, and fried mushrooms.

“You didn’t come back last night.” It was a statement, not a question.

Theodore shot an annoyed glare in Pansy’s direction. Draco felt inclined to do the same.

“Why? Curious?” Harry gave a toothy grin.

“It’s none of your business, Parkinson,” Rosier cut in when Pansy looked as if she was about to continue on another tirade.

“Yes, _Parkinson_ ,” Blaise drawled. “What do you have against Potter, anyway? I’d almost say that you’re jealous.”

Draco internally sighed with relief. Only Blaise would be able to put on such a good act, even while knowing what Draco had told him.

Pansy flushed with anger. “Why would I be jealous of a half-blood?” she sputtered. 

Rosier’s hand tightened around his goblet and his eyes took on an almost haunted look. Draco took in the scene with a morbid sort of fascination. He’d never seen the holier-than-thou heir in such distress before, and at only a few unoffending words.

Potter paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Then, after a beat, he shrugged, continuing with his breakfast.

“Harry was in the dorm when we woke up,” Blaise said before the situation could further spiral. He returned Pansy’s suspicious glare with an exasperated one. “Honestly, Pansy. Can we _please_ not do this every meal? I don’t understand why you’re so interested in what Harry does. And I thought Daphne was bad.” 

The mention of their absentee friend was enough to quell Pansy’s attitude. Draco watched as she deflated, face crumpling with worry at the reminder. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flicker of guilt in Blaise’s expression, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel any sympathy for the girl.

If what he saw was as bad as he had thought — part of him suspected that it was _worse_ , if anything — then Potter deserved a break from Pansy’s incessant nagging. Draco had never had to brave Potter’s anger in person, and if he had a say, he never would.

While Daphne’s name had been enough to silence Pansy, it was also enough to dampen the mood for the rest of the morning. Draco lamented his luck while they walked to Potions together after breakfast. Why couldn’t things return to as they were before everything had gone wrong?

But he kept his thoughts to himself. There was no use to wishful thinking. For now, he had a potion to brew and a facade to keep up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When she arrived back upon the bridge leading into Hogwarts, dusk had already fallen.

The golden glow pouring out from the many windows mixed with the bright of the stars, casting the castle in an ethereal veil of light. Any other time, this would have been an awe-inspiring sight.

However, Daphne Greengrass only glanced at the spectacle before hurrying into the Hogwarts halls.

Her feet carried her to the Headmaster’s office, and she hardly took notice of her surroundings until she had already gone past the phoenix statue, up the stairwell, and stood in front of a large oaken door. The absentminded glaze of her eyes all but dissipated when she heard voices through the wood. Her hand stilled mid-knock, just short of touching the door.

_“…were enough!?”_ Professor Snape snarled. 

“ _Albus, what is the meaning of this?_ ” Professor McGonagall’s chilling calm, if anything, felt heavier than the Potion Master’s fury.

“ _It was beyond my control_ ,” a voice she recognized as Albus Dumbledore’s spoke, but more solemnly than she would have ever thought the man capable of. “ _I rushed there…the wards were dismantled…too late. There’s nothing we can do, now._ ”

Daphne pressed closer as the voices softened and grew muffled. 

“ _Does this mean…_ ” Professor McGonagall trailed off. Daphne leaned in to catch the end of her sentence, but her efforts were for naught. 

“ _I don’t know, Minerva_ ,” Dumbledore replied, “ _…don’t believe it is. You should’ve seen the room…would have left a mark, if only to gloat_.” 

The click of footsteps neared, and Daphne jumped back, smoothing her expression into perfect innocence. 

“ _…think it’s a student? That’s impossible…_ ”

“ _…that’s not…could be someone else…_ ”

“Miss Greengrass!” Professor Flitwick faltered as he exited the stairwell. “What are you doing here?”

Professor Flitwick seemed slightly out of breath, evidently having just rushed up the stairs. He had probably been summoned for the heated discussion currently underway, and judging by his tensed frame, it was likely a matter of great urgency.

“Good evening, Professor,” Daphne said cordially. “I’m returning to finish the semester.  Mother said to check in with the Headmaster when I’d arrived?”

“Ah,” Professor Flitwick nodded, “yes, I remember now. Come along, then.”

He strode forward to knock rapidly on the door before pushing it open.

Daphne followed a few steps behind, curiously noting the strained expressions of those within the room.

Albus Dumbledore, especially, seemed as if he had aged a decade. His usually twinkling eyes were lined with fatigue.

“Good evening, Headmaster,” she said, breaking the strange atmosphere.

Quickly, the small gathering dispersed, leaving only Professor Snape and Dumbledore. The ensuing exchange was a brief one. She was given an updated schedule and a list of chapters she would have to review before being sent to supper.

Daphne heaved a sigh of relief as she stepped out of the office.

There had been no extensive questioning from her Head of House nor subtle suggestions from the Headmaster. It seemed that whatever they had been speaking of before took precedence over her family’s affairs, and for that she was glad. She had dreaded that particular meeting the most when returning to Hogwarts. 

Now, with her worries mainly settled, she slowed her pace as she walked down the corridors.

She hadn’t been gone for long. Not even half a year had passed since she’d first seen Potter across the Great Hall. Yet, that meeting had been the catalyst for everything leading up to that point — it was hard to imagine that a Pureblood family spanning back for centuries could nearly be brought to ruin at the hands of a mere boy as old as she was.

Despite the short amount of time away, she felt as if she had already lost her place. At least the welcoming warmth of Hogwarts still remained, as well as the homely tinge of its magic and the gentle hum beneath its walls.

When she had first arrived alongside the other first-years, she had been brimming with reckless confidence, ambition, and unbridled wonder. Now, after the mere span of a few months, she was passing through the foyer of the castle once again, but with heavy steps.

A sardonic smile flickered past her face.

For her and her family, Samhain had been a disaster. But she alone knew that it had been a completely avoidable one. The fallout from the event had been horrendous. With so many witnesses, the Greengrass family had practically had no time for damage control. They’d had to choose between restoring the fallen wards and protecting the Greengrass reputation. Lord Greengrass, her father, had chosen the former. 

Daphne forcibly smoothed out the tension between her brows as she approached the Great Hall. She could hear the din of conversation echoing through the doors.

Letting out a shaky breath, she molded her expression into one of detachment before resuming her steps. It almost felt as if she had been brought back several years, to her first public birthday banquet as the heiress of the Greengrass family. Anticipation and anxiety warred within her, her desire to see her friends again clashing with the stunned reaction she knew she would be sure to draw. After all, she was under no illusion that her entrance might go unnoticed.

For the first time in a long while, Daphne felt a terrible jolt of nervousness. Inhaling deeply, she pushed through the doors.

It took several moments for her appearance to be noticed. Almost at once, the noise within the Great Hall died down to harsh whispers. Daphne remained unwavering under the heavy weight of the crowd’s attention. Instead, she glided over to her house table, head held high and expression undisturbed.

She was the heiress to the Noble House of Greengrass. Her family had already suffered one set back as a result of her carelessness. She wouldn’t allow their reputation to be further tainted, nor would she allow herself to repeat the mistake.

The clamour returned in full before she was even halfway across the room. The sudden burst of noise was staggering, and Daphne wasn’t sure which was worse between the prior quiet judgment or the current deafening gossip. 

“Daphne!” Pansy all but cried out with relief. She shifted hastily to empty a seat, unbalancing the other first-years sat around her. “What happened? Why didn’t reply to any of our owls? You had us all so worried!”

Daphne settled down, calming her thoughts before turning to regard her childhood friend.

“There wasn’t much I could have done. Mother and Father thought it would be best to prevent the chance of someone with ill-intentions from sneaking anything into the Greengrass Residence, so they put up owl-wards.” 

Pansy sulked, but it was clear that there was no longer any real anger in her gaze. “That’s awful. I can’t believe all that really happened!”

Blaise nodded from where he sat across the table. “It really has been just one mischance after another, hasn’t it?”

Daphne piled her plate silently, taking the time to sweep her gaze across the rest of her housemates. Theodore gave a slight nod of acknowledgment when their eyes met. His gaze carried an inquisitive glint, but she wasn’t in the mood to analyze the expression.

Her posture only loosened after she had determined that her closest friends all appeared to be alright. She barely prevented herself from reacting when her eyes fell upon Potter, who was seated only several seats down.

“Daph, are you alright?” To her surprise, it was Draco Malfoy who asked the next question. His genuine concern was definitely unexpected. Despite their acquaintance extending back to their toddler days, they had never had the closest relationship.

“What do you mean?”

“The situation with your family wards, of course,” Draco clarified, brows furrowing. Pansy was scowling at him for his lack of tack, while Blaise and Theodore only looked exasperated.

“It’s nothing,” Daphne said in clipped tones. She focused on her meal, hoping the Malfoy heir wouldn’t press the subject.

Unsurprisingly, it was a lost cause.

“You weren’t at Hogwarts for _weeks_ !” Draco exclaimed. “You didn’t even come for the exams! It can’t possibly be ‘ _nothing_.’”

“I’m fine,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Nothing a few bribes couldn’t handle. But of course you would know that. Right, Malfoy?”

She ignored the pointed stare from Blaise. He was too observant to not see her goad as the distraction tactic that it was. Unfortunately, Draco didn’t snap back as he normally would.

“Let’s put aside politics for a moment,” Draco said, the only sign of his frustration the slight flush to his cheeks. “I saw what the papers were saying about your family. It’s unbelievable!”

“Complete defamation,” Pansy piped in, “Especially that shameless rumourmonger Rita Skeeter! It’s unthinkable that they even printed her articles.”

For a moment, Daphne was rendered utterly speechless. She had never imagined that the proud Malfoy heir would actually rise to her defence, never mind after she had just directly insulted him. Their families were always at odds with one another — if anything, she had been prepared to face Draco’s smug taunts.

What could possibly have driven him to speak up for her now?

“It seems like the saying is true,” Potter’s musing tone shocked her out of her contemplation. “In strife, those of the same blood will unite despite previous differences.” 

Daphne stared, feeling her faux expression of indifference slipping as Potter winked at her. His toothy smile was enough for her to realize that he had answered her unvoiced question purposefully. Her surprised numbness was soon doused with a surge of cold fear. How was he able to read her thoughts? If he was so perceptive, then what else had he been able to glean from her mind while she had planned out that entire exposé?

“I’m not a Legilimens, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Potter barked out a laugh. “You’re much easier to read than you think, Greengrass. For once, stop overthinking everything and _relax_.”

Daphne’s breath caught.

Was that a threat? A warning?

It irritated her to no end that she was still unable to decipher even Potter’s surface emotions, while he was able to maneuver everyone around him like pieces on a chessboard. He had so many sides to him that it was hard to say which one was genuine and which were facades. He was disarmingly charming. He was lazily intelligent. He was highly secretive. His moods were impossible to predict. 

Daphne broke eye contact first. No matter the case, she was no longer foolish enough to openly challenge Harry Potter. She had once let her own pride and sense of justice dictate her actions. And her family, including little Astoria, had paid the price. What right did she have to the Greengrass heirship if she couldn’t even keep her younger sister from harm’s way?

She heard Potter chuckle, but didn’t retort as she once would have had. Looking away, she saw that the other purebloods were watching their exchange with confusion and unease. That was to be expected, considering Daphne had always gone against Potter at every opportunity she had. What could have possibly made her submit _now_?

_No, this is not submission_ , Daphne vowed to herself. _This is for Astoria_.

“How _is_ your sister, by the way?”

Her head snapped up and she furiously glared at Potter. Her message was clear.

_Don’t you dare_. 

Potter only grinned, raising both hands in mock defeat. His amusement was laid bare for all to see. 

“Astoria is fine,” Daphne said stiffly. She averted her eyes, looking at the impassive Theo instead. Unlike Potter, she knew that Theo had actually been worried about the younger Greengrass. “She had a scare a few days ago when some imbecile thought it clever to send a howler to a ten-year-old, but other than that and some overbearing reporters, no serious threats were made.”

“Someone sent Astoria a howler?” Pansy sounded positively scandalized. “Why would anyone do such a thing? _Who_ would do such a thing?”

Daphne gave a slight shake of the head. “We never managed to trace it back to the sender. Mother and Father both received similar complaints before, stating that shutting down our wards was simply a publicity stunt. They must’ve realized nothing was getting through after Father closed his and Mother’s owl wards to everyone but close friends. Anyway, Astoria and I were sent upstairs before we could hear the worst of it. Whatever it was, it must’ve been bad; Mother was _seething_ afterwards.”

A sullenness hung over the group at her words. Daphne tuned out the others’ conversation as she finished her dinner. The memory of that morning alone dampened her mood. She could only imagine what might’ve happened if it hadn’t been a mere howler that had slipped through the cracks, but something much more sinister.

Subconsciously, her gaze fell upon Potter once more. His presence in the room was one that she couldn’t quite ignore no matter how hard she tried. Nevertheless, she couldn’t suppress the bitterness that seeped through her at the sight of the other boy. If it hadn’t been for him, none of it would have happened.

But it had been her fault to begin with. Her greatest mistake had been to make an enemy out of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Truthfully, it was surprising that Potter was acting as if nothing had changed. He was treating Daphne exactly as he had before Samhain, and exactly like everyone else he knew. That she would not have to face Potter’s wrath, at least, was a small comfort.

Suddenly, a flash of red caught her attention. 

“Potter…” The name slipped out before she could think it through.

Potter turned to face her, openly curious. Blaise, Draco, and Pansy stared at her as well, probably dazed by her sudden address of the very person she seemed to loathe.

“Is that…blood?” Daphne gestured towards Potter’s shoulder, where a hint of his collarbone peeked out from behind the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. A small splash of red was beginning to seep through the thin fabric, contrasting sharply to the green and silver of his tie.

Potter looked down, blinking skeptically he examined the currently spreading patch of red. Daphne didn’t miss the way both Blaise and Draco stiffened at her words nor their shared glance filled with trepidation. Pansy, however, only looked annoyed, muttering something under her breath.

“Oh,” Potter stood, nearly stumbling at the motion.

Daphne’s brows raised — was that a moment of weakness she had just glimpsed?

“Thanks for the heads-up.” He graced them with a lopsided grin. “Excuse me, I have to go get this cleaned up.”

Without further ado, the boy ambled out of the Great Hall, waving to a few students from the other house tables on the way. His quick departure left her with more questions than answers, and she looked to Blaise and Draco, the latter of whom was growing very pale.

Taking in their nervousness, she exhaled heavily, deciding to let the matter drop. If it was something of import, she had no doubt that the other two would have told her. As things stood, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

If they needed help, they’d naturally come to her. And if not…well. As it involved Potter, ignorance was probably bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the final chapter in the first year! When year 1 is complete, updates will temporarily be put on hold while revisions are made to the current chapters. I would like to thank TheRogueHuntress again for agreeing to beta my fics! New content may or may not be added to previous chapters, but there won’t be any drastic changes, so it’s up to you guys whether or not to reread everything once the year 2 chapters are posted.
> 
> Thank you all for staying up until this point. I am grateful for everyone who commented, encouraged me, bookmarked, left kudos, and took the time to read my work. It’s been an absolutely wonderful experience, and you are the best readers anyone could hope for!
> 
> Find me on tumblr:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theslytherinprefect
> 
> Merry Christmas, everyone, and a happy New Year!
> 
> Next time:  
> As the school year comes to a close, the professors make a shocking announcement.
> 
> Albus Dumbledore grows paranoid and attempts to correct his mistakes, but he is a step too late…


	11. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore grows desperate in his attempts to find the stone.
> 
> Harry suffers the consequences of his recklessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since my last update and I promise there's a reason for that!
> 
> I've been struggling through a family emergency for the last few months and I just didn't have the time to write. It was a stressful time for me but the worst of it is over now.
> 
> I haven't been on my AO3 account until recently but I promise that I will get to replying to every comment! None of my current works are abandoned. I have an outline (however vague) for them and I will continue updating them. Hopefully, that may put some of your worries to rest.
> 
> Thank you for your patience and ongoing support. I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter!

It was the day before the end of term feast and all exams had ended a week prior. Draco leaned back from where he lounged in the shade and put aside a sheet of parchment—the third letter that his Mother had sent him that week. Of course, he wasn’t blind to the rising tensions among the Pureblood circles, but that hardly meant that he needed to be reminded of the fact every day.

“Another one?” Blaise peered over, his quill pausing mid-sentence over his own letter.

“Need you even ask?”

They—being Draco, Blaise, Daphne, and Pansy—were seated along one of the L-shaped benches in a corner of the Hogwarts courtyard, basking in the bright warmth of the summer morning. There wasn’t much else they could do, time being what they were. There were none of the usual festivities that accompanied the completion of the exams, at least not in Slytherin. The recent events had all been one blow after another, and it was as if a metaphorical guillotine were hanging above all their heads; they were all well aware of how close they were to the edge, yet there was nothing that could be done about any of it.

Pansy puffed out a heavy exhale. She had tossed aside her outer robe and vest and was only wearing a white dress shirt tucked into a grey skirt.

“This is absurd. Nobody is  _ doing _ anything! At this rate, half of Slytherin won’t even be returning to Hogwarts next year. We are on the brink of war, and some are still worrying over  _ OWLS _ .”

The splinter of truth in her words deepened the frown on Draco’s face.

It was a secret of the highest degree that someone had managed to infiltrate Hogwarts and swipe a prized possession from right underneath Dumbledore’s nose, thus naturally, everyone knew. Everyone, of course, included the higher echelons of the magical community. 

The message it had sent out was as clear as day: Hogwarts was no longer safe. 

“Nonsense,” Daphne murmured with no conviction behind her words. “We’ve all just been working ourselves into a frenzy. It’ll blow pass like it always does.”

“That doesn’t negate the fact that Dumbledore is getting clumsy,” Blaise said, straightening up and wiping the ink from his quill. “This would’ve never been allowed to happen in the past. And when  _ he _ comes back, the first place that’ll be hit is…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence. They all knew that should the Dark Lord return,  _ when _ he returns, the first unfortunate soul he’ll be after is the Boy-Who-Lived. Lord Voldemort will finish what he started, even if it meant taking a war to Hogwarts. 

Draco scowled. “He’s not back. My father would know-”

A sudden bark of laughter cut his words short. Daphne was staring at him with ridicule clear in her gaze. “Of course he would, because we  _ all _ know the loyalty and service that he’s shown the Dark Lord.”

Draco bristled, but couldn’t quite help the clenching of his fists. There was something different about her now—she seemed jaded, broken somehow, and it put him on edge. 

“Daphne,” Blaise chided warningly. 

It had been a long while since she had last made a dig at his family; during such times fraught with uncertainty, it was an unspoken rule that the Pureblood heirs remained loyal to one another, regardless of personal animosities.

For a moment Daphne looked as if she might protest, but then her shoulders slumped and she deflated.

“My apologies, Draco,” she said. Her clipped tone didn’t detract from the resignation in her voice. “I’ve let my emotions get the better of me.”

“No,” Draco said, equally glumly. “It is true.” A wry smile touched his lips. “But I will know all the same, no? After all, Father is still alive and well, to my knowledge.”

A tinge of guilt bled into Daphne’s gaze but Draco couldn’t find it in himself to care. Her barb had been a low one and they all knew it.

They fell into a stilted silence, with Draco flipping through the loose leaves of parchment in his hands without actually reading the words. A moment passed before the crunching of leaves broke through their thoughts. 

Draco looked up at the approaching figure, his brows raising in surprise. Well. This was certainly unexpected.

“Erm…excuse me,” Neville Longbottom stood slouched in front of them, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He was looking anywhere but at them, and it was as pitiful as it was irritating. “Have any of you seen Harry?”

Draco gave a silent snarl at Longbottom’s casual address of Potter—because who did he think he was!? Potter was only ever ‘Harry’ to Mudbloods and half-bloods who didn’t know any better, and to a very select few of Purebloods when the situation allowed it. To see one of his fellow Pureblood heirs so lacking in etiquette was shameful, to say the least.

“No,” Blaise replied briskly before Draco could snap out at the fool.

“Why are you looking for Potter?” Pansy asked, curiosity flaring.

Longbottom looked at them then, his eyes glimmering with apprehension and open dislike. Draco’s lips thinned at how easily he could read the emotions across the other’s face—Longbottom’s expression was conflicted, his distrust for Slytherins warring with what appeared to be worry, presumably for Potter.

Finally, the latter seemed to have won over, and his frown crumpled into acceptance of the inevitable. 

“I need to tell him something—’s important,” he mumbled. “So let him know that I’ve been looking for him. I’ll be going, then.”

He turned to leave but Pansy was faster. Her hand snatched out to hook the back of his robes and she pulled him back. Her eyes were practically shining out, though whether it was at the prospect of obtaining gossip or simply having something interesting to curb her boredom, Draco wasn’t sure.

“Not so fast, Longbottom,” she said, lips curling upwards. “Why don’t you tell us what it is and we’ll pass it on?”

Her voice was deceptively sweet. 

Longbottom stared skeptically back at her before his glance shifted to the rest of the group.

“Oh, come on, Longbottom,” Blaise chimed in. A gleam of intrigue flashed through his eyes but that was all Draco caught before his face was blank with impassivity once more. “We’ll have a much better chance of running across Potter than you, and why should we send him your merry way without even knowing the reason? Who’s to say this isn’t some elaborate trap you Gryffindors have cooked up?”

It was so ludicrous an idea, Draco was impressed that Blaise had managed to keep a straight face. The Gryffindors, absurd as it was, liked Harry Potter far too much to truly wish him harm. Never mind that, Longbottom himself seemed sickeningly loyal to Potter.

“I w-wouldn’t do that to Harry,” Longbottom stuttered, then glared, almost  _ indignantly _ . Draco was impressed; he didn’t think Longbottom had it in him. “Please just let him know. It’s-it’s complicated.”

Daphne looked up, her head tilted. “We’ve got time.”

Then, she shifted to the side, leaving a spot open on the bench. Longbottom stared down with befuddlement before turning to stare at them again.

“That’s right, Longbottom,” Draco said. There was nothing better to do anyway, and he couldn’t deny that he was just as interested in this mysterious business as the rest of his housemates. “Join us. We’ll make sure to get your message to… _ Harry _ .”

Draco waited for a minute—that was all it took for Longbottom to fold to the weight of their collective stares. He stepped forward and cautiously sat down, hanging off the edge of the bench. He looked for all the world as if he expected to be hexed at any moment. Draco almost wanted to sigh. How did one of the most powerful Light families spawn such a meek, flimsy boy?

“I…I overheard Professor McGonagall discussing this with the prefects, but…” Longbottom’s eyes darted to Draco before quickly flashing away. “Apparently, D-Dumbledore has authorized a dorm sweep for a-all of the Houses. It’s due for t-this afternoon, and…” He swallowed. “I thought that Harry ought to know.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed at the implications of the words but Longbottom spoke up before he could.

“W-what? Everyone k-knows that all the books that he’s constantly flipping through aren’t of the standard curriculum. Know H-Harry, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them are from the Restricted Section.”

It was an acute insight that Draco hadn’t thought that Longbottom was capable of, but it did explain his actions. But then the true brunt of his words set in and Draco straightened. He could see the other Slytherins around him doing the same as they exchanged sharp glances.

“A dorm sweep?” Daphne said slowly. Longbottom visibly wavered when her curved eyes turned on him. “Did they say what for?”

Longbottom gnawed at his lower lip, obviously rattled. “N-no. I don’t think even the prefects knew.”

Draco looked around once more and he could tell that his housemates’ interests were all piqued.

“And it’ll be the prefects conducting the search?” Blaise asked, eyes shining with a shrewd light.

“Er—no. I-I mean…the prefects will be there, b-but the Head of House will be supervising. At least that’s w-what I’ve heard.”

That was interesting. So whatever the purpose of this school-wide sweep was, the professors didn’t entirely trust the prefects to do it themselves. And given the short time frame between when they were notified and the actual search itself, it’s obviously meant to deter anyone, even the prefects themselves, from hiding away potentially incriminating objects.

They sat there quietly for a moment, each coming to their own conclusions.

“Thank you, Longbottom,” Draco said at last. The words seemed to jolt the other boy, for he shot up and teetered in his haste. In light of the new information, Draco wasn’t in the mood to gain amusement from that stumble.

But after a few wobbled steps, the Gryffindor lingered, a steeliness to his gaze in spite of his hunched posture. It was the first time that he truly looked the part of a Pureblood heir.

“Will you…?”

“We’ll ensure that Potter is aware,” Draco said, gaining a touch of respect for the other boy. 

Longbottom gave a jerky nod before he was off, crossing the courtyard without so much as a backward glance.

The bright of the morning sun no longer felt as cosy as it had minutes prior.

Draco leaned forward and folded his letters, tucking into his robes. The others did the same, quickly putting away all distractions before focusing their attention on the matter at hand.

A beat passed in silence before Draco started, lips pursed together. “It seems that Dumbledore has finally lost his mind.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Pansy blurted out. Her face was contorted in open rage. “A dorm-sweep? Does he think himself invincible? It’s a clear violation of student rights—if he thinks that he can get away with this scot-free, I swear to Merlin…not even the Hufflepuffs will stand for this preposterous,  _ inane _ …!” 

“And on such short notice, too,” Blaise muttered, sounding dazed.

“It’s a clear attack on Slytherins, is what it is,” Draco said, sneering.

His friends turned to him, perplexed.

“Think about it—the Gryffindor prefects are already in on it, and I don’t know about the other Houses, but surely none of the Slytherin prefects had been informed. If they had, we would know.”

“But why now?” Daphne argued. “The Slytherin dorms are probably filled with Dark objects and banned books—be they family heirlooms or of other origins. It’s a publicly known fact. And if Dumbledore wants to curb the issue, surely he has enough sense to not do it  _ now _ , of all times.”

The ‘ _ after everything that had already happened _ ’ went unsaid. Blaise and Pansy exchanged uneasy looks but didn’t interfere.

“When has anything that Dumbledore does ever make sense?” He scoffed. “He’s getting senile—and  _ reckless _ . He might as well just announced a search on Slytherin. Salazar knows that the Hufflepuffs will never risk it, and Ravenclaws are such sticklers for the rules; they won’t be caught dead with anything even remotely illegal. Only the Gryffindors are cocky or idiotic enough to possess banned or dark objects, but knowing Dumbledore, the old fool will probably label it as a prank and let them off with mere slaps on the wrist. Now, Slytherins are a whole other matter.”

“Yes, but-!” Daphne let out a frustrating huff. “You’re not listening, Draco! I’m not questioning your words, but-okay, look…all I’m trying to point out is that Dumbledore wouldn’t do this without a reason, alright? Why would he risk the ire of multiple powerful families without strong enough of a motivation?”

Draco faltered. Daphne was agreeing with him. She  _ never _ agreed. 

“What you’re saying is…” Blaise joined in, obviously having deemed the worst of their exchange to have passed. “…that this has nothing to do with regular dorm sweeps at all?”

Daphne gave a tight nod, some of the tension draining from her frame. “Yes. Dumbledore is obviously looking for something in particular. And he’s at wit’s end. What he’s doing now—it comes with its fair share of consequences, and I doubt that it’s anything other than a last resort.”

“But what could he possibly be looking for?” Pansy mused, having blown past her previous fury.

Draco stilled. He thought of the rumours, of whispers, and of shakily penned words in his Mother’s letters. 

But it can’t be.

_ Surely _ , it can’t be. 

No mere student can, first of all, deceive Albus Dumbledore, and secondly, hide their tracks well enough to warrant a blind search. That can’t be it. It can’t be true…because if it is, then that means, whoever it was, they were still residing beneath Hogwarts’ roofs, biding their time.

That was a disturbing thought—one that he would rather not consider.

“What is it, Draco?”

Draco turned to Pansy’s impatient voice. Her eyes bore into his, dark and demanding, but he still saw the concern lurking in the undercurrents. He drew in a breath, the fresh air somehow tasting stale on his tongue.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “It’s nothing.”

She held turned their stare for a moment, before turning away from him and joining Blaise and Daphne in their whisperings. Draco gazed across the courtyard, sorting through his own thoughts. His eyes absentmindedly trailed down along the cobblestone path, past the gardens, and finally fell upon his own hands.

For some reason, it almost felt as if he already had all of the pieces to the puzzle, laid before him. All that was left was for him to put it together…yet, he hadn’t a clue where to start. 

_ Or didn’t want to _ , a deceptively soft voice hissed in the back of his mind.

His fingers shook where they laid in his lap. He curled them into the thick fabric of his robes, taking in a deep, quivering breath.

Three pairs of disconcerted eyes turn to him as he stood. 

“Draco…?” Blaise said quietly as if speaking to a cornered animal. Any other time, Draco might’ve found it offensive, if only on principle.

“We’ve got to go,” he said instead. “We’ve got to tell Potter.”

 

 

* * *

 

“Miles!”

Miles paused at the familiar voice, turning with something akin to disbelief glinting through his eyes. He spun around and stopped mid-stride, not bothering to mask his surprise.

“Potter.”

“Are you busy?”

The question left no room for rejection. Not that Miles had planned to, anyway. He shook his head and Potter grinned, all teeth. It was nearing noon and they were standing in the corridors just beyond the Great Hall—not the most inconspicuous of locations—but Potter didn’t seem to mind in the least.

A steady trickle of students passed them, but few paid them even the slightest attention. Miles attributed it to his companion; when he didn’t want to be seen, he simply wasn’t, and that was that. Not for the first time, Miles was glad that Potter had tipped his hand in front of him early on in the game. He pitied the fools who pitted themselves against the boy.

“What do you need?” Miles prompted.

It was hardly the first time that Potter had addressed him, but it _was_ the first time that Potter had actively sought him out. And with a request, it seemed. Miles wasn’t under the delusion that helping Potter will gain him any favours in return. Nevertheless, he would never pass up a chance to get further within Potter’s good graces, and the other boy knew it.

“Nothing that you can’t manage,” Potter said, eyes twinkling. “I’ve a mail in need of sending. Would you mind lending a hand?”

To emphasize his point, he brought his hand out from his robe pockets and held up a thin envelope. Miles blinked but didn’t enquire as to why Potter couldn’t do it himself. After all, there was always a reason behind his actions, twisted as it may be at times. Even if Miles was to turn down the innocent request…well, that wasn’t even within the realms of consideration, so he nodded.

“Consider it done. Any specifications?”

Potter’s smile widened until it reached his eyes and he held out the wad. “I had planned to use one of the Hogwarts owls.”

Miles gave an answering smile of his own. That was what he would’ve done, even without the tip. He rather liked his own owl, and it was always better to err on the side of caution. Especially when it came to Potter.

“Noted,” he took the offered envelope. “Have I got a deadline?”

The whole exchange was perfectly natural, and Miles knew that to anyone who might have seen would take it as a mere passing of school notes.

Potter laughed, a quick and cutting sound that ended as soon as it had come. 

“You’re the heedful kind, aren’t you?” He said, sounding almost appreciative. “That’s good. I knew there was a reason why I had thought of you first. I’d prefer for it to be out after lunch. If you can, of course.”

Miles straightened somewhat at the passing praise. While Potter was always free with his opinions, the same couldn’t be said for his opinions  _ of others _ . 

“Of course,” he echoed, knowing full well that it was an instruction and not a recommendation. “It’ll be out by then.”

“Thank you, Miles,” Potter flashed him a crooked smile before gliding past him to enter the Great Hall, hand resting at his shoulders for a long second. “I’ll see you around.”

Miles stood there for a moment after he had gone, focused on the lingering warmth in his arm. 

_ Well _ . 

Potter was evidently in a splendid mood. 

He couldn’t help the smug smile that brightened his eyes. Of all of his devout fans from the other Houses and Pureblood friends within Slytherin, Potter had chosen—and trusted—Miles, even if it was for a task as menial as postage. Though, Miles hadn’t the slightest doubt that it wasn’t all there was to it. 

Eyes flickering down to the innocuous envelope, he blinked. 

_ Hogsmeade Owl Post Delivery Center _ . 

It was surprising, but he himself wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Pushing the matter out of his mind, he slid it into his satchel. It wasn’t his business either way.

Miles turned, intent on having a quick lunch before setting about to do what Potter had asked of him, but his arm was being grasped before he could get very far. He frowned, finding himself staring into a pair of angry, brown eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing, Bletchely?”

“What do you mean?” Miles asked coolly, all the friendly warmth from his previous conversation draining out of his tone.

Cormac McLaggen was standing before him, arms crossed and brewing in self-righteous anger. Miles stared back blankly, eyes sweeping down the other’s loose Gryffindor robes and back up to his messy blonde hair.

“What was all of that?” McLaggen repeated. “Back there—with Potter.”

“I wasn’t aware that I’m obligated to report all of my affairs to you.”

“Yes—but, that  _ wasn’t _ you! We’ve been friends for years, and I know you’re not one to ingratiate yourself to others like that. Especially not an eleven years old boy!”

‘Friends’ was a bit of an overstatement. Miles raised a brow but otherwise didn’t reply. 

McLaggen was the son of a business partner of his father’s, and it was mostly situation than friendship that brought them together on multiple occasions over the years. Yet McLaggen always seemed to be under the impression that they were somehow close confidants. 

Before, Miles had found it to be amusing; at the moment, all he felt was annoyance.

“Come on,” McLaggen said, voice dropping as curious glances began to be cast their way. At least he had some discretion. “Is it because he’s the Boy-Who-Lived? Has this got anything to do with politics?”

“No,” Miles hissed, turning on his heels and stalking away. To his irritation, McLaggen trailed after him. “I associate with Potter  _ in spite _ of the fact that he’s the Boy-Who-Lived, not because of it. I don’t know how you ever came to the conclusion that I’m doing anything that I don’t want to do, but I’ll tell you once and only once— _ I’m not _ .”

But of course, such a clear dismissal that would’ve sent any Slytherin packing only seemed to encourage the other boy.

“Then why are you helping him out? I’ve never known you to do anything without something in return.”

That wasn’t a lie. Miles was pragmatic like that; he always had been and he always will be. Potter was an entirely different matter though, as is the case regarding nearly anything when it came to the boy. McLaggen wouldn’t understand, though. Even if he could, Miles had no intention of explaining himself to him.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m capable of being  _ nice _ ?” He turned a corner.

McLaggen followed him, increasing his pace until they were walking shoulder-to-shoulder. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying—Potter is only a  _ boy _ , of all the people I know, I would’ve never expected you to be taken in by that whole saviour fiasco.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Miles scoffed. He stopped and spun around, eyes narrowing. McLaggen reared back from the heat of his glare. “Let me offer you one piece of advice, taking our long acquaintanceship into consideration. Don’t underestimate Harry Potter. Not if you value whatever semblance of normality you’ve got left.”

They were standing in an empty hallway now, though anyone could easily walk into their discussion. However, Miles hardly cared. It wasn’t as if he’s on the wrong side, after all.

“Potter,” he said, voice low and bordering on the reverent. “Will never be half the saviour that the Light expects of him.” He paused. “However, he is  _ thrice _ the wizard anyone could ever hope to be. And even that is an understatement.”

A charged silence followed his words. For a brief while, he was beginning to expect the Gryffindor to back off. However, McLaggen’s next words shattered any hope he might have had.

“But  _ surely _ you can’t know that. For the love of Godric—He’s only eleven!”

“You’re not much older than he is, and neither am I.”

McLaggen was in his second year and Miles was in his third. A year or two barely made a difference in the wizarding world—age didn’t correlate with power. A truth that he had always known, but never actually believed in until he saw it exemplified earlier that year.

For a long minute, Miles debated between speaking his mind and simply walking away, weighing McLaggen’s usefulness against his own sanity. While McLaggen’s father occupied an important Minstry position and he was popular amongst the Gryffindors—courtesy of his Chaser position no doubt—he hadn’t any extraordinary talents that extended beyond the Quidditch pitch. 

But the decision was taken from him when McLaggen continued, “He is only an eleven years old boy and an entitled one at that.”

A startled laugh ripped itself out of Miles’ throat, echoing in the corridor. “Entitled?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Oh, no, no, no… _ no _ . You let your prejudice rule you, McLaggen. And trust me when I say this—envy is  _ not _ a good look on anyone, least of all you.”

Without another word he resumed his walk, pacing quickly down the halls.

“Hey! What do you mean by that?” The affronted yell echoed from behind him before a flurry of steps sounded.

Miles’ jaw stiffened when McLaggen fell into step beside him once more, insistent brown eyes burning into his profile.

“Why would I be envious of Potter?

“Do you want a list?” He mocked, not breaking his fast pace. “I’m not blind. Do you think I hadn’t seen all those attempts you’ve made to speak with him? Just because he didn’t deem you interesting enough to converse with doesn’t give you the right to act on your injured pride and spout rubbish across the school.”

McLaggen wavered and Miles didn’t need to turn to see the betrayed scowl marring his face. Well, he was merely sharing what he perceived, and his perceptions were rarely wrong. Whether the other would acknowledge it or not didn’t matter to him. If McLaggen was stupid enough to go against Potter, however indirectly, then he wasn’t worth keeping around, his ministry connections be damned.

When it became clear that the other boy still intended to follow him despite his harsh words, Miles slowed his pace. He tilted his head to look McLaggen directly in the eyes, taking amusement from the flinch that flashed across the other’s face.

“You know what’s the greatest difference between us?”

McLaggen paused, looking uncertain for the first time during their conversation that day. 

Miles sneered. “We may both be Pureblood heirs, but I act like one, and you don’t. Now please excuse me, I have some mail in need of sending.”

He walked on, and this time, McLaggen didn’t follow.

 

 

* * *

 

The end-of-year feast was a true spectacle, but that was all that could be said about it. It was supposed to be a joyous occasion, especially for the Slytherins as they had won the seventh year in a row. The walls were covered in swathes of green and silver and an enlarged banner of Slytherin hung at the front of the room just above the table that sat the professors.

Yet, the general atmosphere within the Great Hall could only be described as glum.

Daphne scanned the expanse of the students, taking morbid amusement from their pinched expressions and slumped postures. The Slytherins were shaken enough by recent events to have discarded all interest in the House Cup, and the other Houses were wallowing over the Slytherin victory. Even the professors were looking quite unwell. The forceful smile on Dumbledore’s face, if anything, only exacerbated that fact.

“This is the worst end-of-year celebration,  _ ever _ ,” Draco said matter-of-factly, and Daphne was inclined to agree.

“Hardly a celebration if there’s nothing to celebrate,” Blaise snorted.

Their usual group was seated together at the end of the Slytherin table, and in a rare show of House camaraderie, even Potter had opted to join them.

“House points seem so insignificant now, doesn’t it?” Pansy muttered. She was staring down dejectedly at her plate—filled with all of her favourites, but untouched.

Though, very few among them were in the mood to enjoy the feast. 

True to Longbottom’s words, a dormitory sweep had been conducted and to no one’s surprise, a collection of ‘questionable’ objects had been confiscated from the Slytherin dorms. Shockingly enough, none of it had been Potter’s. While they had warned him beforehand, Daphne doubted that he would’ve had the time to stow away all of the books that he had nicked from the Restricted Section. Still, that just served to add one more tick on the mystery that was Harry Potter.

“I’ll be in France over the summer,” Draco announced, and it was such a sudden change in topics that they all glanced over to him, even Potter.

“My parents can’t stand it here much longer—with all of the rumours and such,” he continued, fiddling with his fork. “They said that things are much better abroad. The elves are already preparing our villa.”

“I’ll be out of the country as well,” Blaise volunteered after a moment. “Italy. Mother’s new fiancé has got a vineyard there.”

“France? Italy?” Pansy’s head swerved between the two of them, her wild mass of dark hair whipping about her. “You’ve got to be joking! My parents are adamant that we stay within the family manor for summer. Something about Unplottable properties and family wards.” 

“Little good wards can do anyone now,” Daphne said flippantly, and before the sympathetic glances around her can devolve into pity, she continued. “Astoria and I will be staying with our cousins in Nice—Father doesn’t want us around while he reinstates the Wards, with the volatility of the magic and all.”

The others hummed, all knowing her vacation for what it really was—extended babysitting.

“I’m going to my grandfather’s,” Theodore spoke up, breaking his usual silence. 

“Grandfather?” Pansy echoed.

“On Mother’s side,” Theodore clarified, cutting into his roast. “They’ve been neutral for the most part. Less infamy, and all that.” 

Alongside Potter, Theodore was the only other one in their group who was actually having dinner. Daphne looked to the vast display of dishes spread across the table, but couldn’t quite find the appetite to eat.

“What about you, Potter?” Blaise said.

It was only because Daphne’s gaze had already been on him, that she was able to catch the brief downward tilt of Potter’s lips. But the next moment he was smiling widely, and if it was anyone else, Daphne would’ve doubted her eyes.

“Oh, the usual,” Potter said elusively. “Nothing too exciting.” Then, his eyes seemed to take on a haunted edge, and he said, almost as an afterthought, “But personally, I’m not looking forward to it.”

Daphne’s hand paused where it was tracing the faint notches scratched into the table. Potter offering personal information unprompted was so irregular an occurrence that it threw her off-kilter.

“Not a fan of the summer?” Blaise said, his tone light, and Daphne could tell that he was just as surprised as she. 

“Not a fan of boredom,” Potter amended, a hand covering his mouth and words muffled by a mouthful of biscuits and gravy. “Shame that we couldn’t stay at Hogwarts over the break.”

Daphne’s nose wrinkled at the sight, but she had long since learned that the idea of proper conduct and social cues were entirely lost on him. 

“Hogwarts. Seriously?” Pansy deadpanned. “Why, I never took you to be such a dedicated student, Potter.”

Potter chortled as if he had just been told the funniest joke. “It’s got nothing to do with  _ studying _ . Quite the contrary. But now that we mention it…Hogwarts was quite different from how I imagined it to be.”

“Oh? How so?” Daphne was speaking before she even realized it. 

Green eyes turned to her, but that’s all they were. Not the usual shade of the killing-curse or the occasional dark hue of broken bottle glass. Today, they were just…green.

Somehow, Daphne thought, Potter felt  _ softer _ that day, more human and less  _ monstrous _ . It was as if something had been building up within him for the past few months, dark and sinuous, and within the past few days, it had all but melted away, taking with it all of his jaded edges and ridges and dangerous sharpness.  

It felt like an illusion. One that could break with the drop of a needle.

“Well, it’s the excitement, the magic, the…challenges,” he intoned slowly. The glimmer in his gaze told her that there was more to it, that they were all missing something important. But before she can further dissect his expression, he shrugged. “It wasn’t what I had expected. That’s the general gist of it.”

“And what exactly were you expecting?” Draco asked, brows furrowing.  

Potter grinned, sly and knowingly. The illusion held.

“A school.”

 

 

* * *

 

“Albus, this is entirely unheard of.”

Albus Dumbledore kept silent from where he stood with his back against the door, a worn picture frame held loosely in his hands. 

Ariana stared back at him, her eyes taut with the same tense solemnity that she had carried on the day she had passed. The grey hues of the aged photograph didn’t do her justice—he remembered the burnt honeyed tone of her hair and her serene eyes, a shade darker than his own.

It was one of the few pictures he had of his sister, and it was both a promise and an anchor. It reminded him of the mistakes he’d made and of the path he’d chosen, and it had pulled him back on more than one occasion when he had nearly strayed. Yet at the moment, Ariana offered little consolation. 

“Albus,” Minerva said again, more sternly. “You do realize the severity of your decision, no? After this, the Lords and Ladies will be  _ livid _ . Not to mention the Board of Governors. This is a great risk we’ll be taking—rash, questionable, and-”

“-the only choice we have,” Albus finished. He set down the portrait with a silent  _ thump _ , but Ariana’s gaze remained on him, watchful and appraising. “The stone is still within castle grounds, and should it fall into the wrong hands, the consequences will prove to be dire.”

And unless the stone is brought out of the school premises, there is still hope, however slight.

“As if a sweep of the dormitories isn’t enough-” Minerva’s voice sharpened. “You can’t suggest an impromptu scan of the students’ luggage prior to boarding and expect no political fallout. This is a blatant invasion of privacy-”

“-a precautionary measure-”

“-and it might as well confirm the rumours that have been circulating. Why go through the trouble? The likelihood of a student knowing about the stone in the first place, never mind breaking through all of the enchantments without leaving a magical signature, is slim to none.”

That was the worst part of the whole ordeal. Albus had rushed to the third-floor corridors as soon as he had felt his magic being pried from the mirror. What he found had doused any hope he had left. 

There wasn’t quite the destruction nor wreckage that he had expected.

In fact, every room except for the very last seemed entirely untouched—even the potions. It was as if a ghost had drifted through the walls and spirited the stone away. Except…ghosts don’t bleed, and there had been a fair amount of blood in the last room, if the thick stench in the air was anything to go off of.

That would have more than enough to track down the perpetrator—after all, few wards could hide someone from a blood-based tracking spell. 

But the room had been burnt clean. Scorched. The walls and the ground had been dark with soot; his skin had prickled from the searing heat. The mirror had stood in the middle of the room where he had left it. There was a long, thin crack that ran down its surface, and it was disquieting to imagine a force that could damage even the Mirror of the Erised. The only magic he had felt was the shreds of his own, none to indicate that anyone else had been present at all.

That had sent a shiver down his spine. It meant that he was dealing with an unknown. It meant that Tom hadn’t been the one responsible. At least, not directly.

“My suspicions are not directed at our students,” Albus said, bearing the full blunt of Minerva’s accusatory stare. “The wards of Hogwarts will alert us should anything of high magical content pass through. Only the Hogwarts Express is exempt; it is our…Achilles’ heel, as you might say.”

The Muggle saying had its intended effect, albeit only barely. Minerva’s lips twitched.

“Theoretically, a student can carry an artefact of the darkest kind into or out of the school through the Hogwarts Express, and we wouldn’t have the slightest clue,” Albus continued. “It is by far the easiest, if not the only, method of leaving Hogwarts undetected.”

“But if it was You-Know-Who…”

“It wasn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Albus strolled over to his desk, his steps slow and languid. “If it was, we would know.”

Minerva’s eyes glinted with understanding, and she didn’t press on.

Tom had a predilection for vast shows of magic, for asserting his own superiority. If he had been in that room, if he had torn through the enchantments of the mirror and nabbed the stone for his own, Albus hadn’t a doubt that he would have walked in on a glowing Dark Mark or perhaps the strung up body of a Muggleborn…but certainly not a smouldering ruin, void of any foreign magic. 

Albus knew the way of Tom’s antics. Tom Riddle was flamboyant and dramatic and wouldn’t be able to resist rubbing Albus’s failures in his face, especially if it was something as spectacularly awful such as this. Admittedly, there was another reason why this affair unsettled him as much as it did.

This sort of silent mockery was one that he recognized. A glimmer of mirthful blue eyes flashed through his thoughts. 

_ Gellert Grindelwald _ . 

It had his style—no dramatic taunts and no calling card. No wasted effort, no unnecessary embellishments, only the aftermaths of his cruel efficiency, bared for all to see. Unlike Tom, Gellert had always known that uncertainty haunted Albus more than anything else.

But Gellert was locked away in Nurmengard, stripped of magic. His reach only extended to the bare walls of his stone prison, and there, he held no clout—no wand to channel spells and no one to hook with empty promises and gilded words. 

Still, the mere possibility was tormenting enough. He would have to look into this himself to put his mind at rest, and preferably sometime soon.

“But what if they don’t leave?” Minerva’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “The wards encompass not only Hogwarts, but the entirety of Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest. It will be easy enough to find somewhere inconspicuous, to wait it out until our guards are lowered.”

“That is possible,” Albus allowed. “That doesn’t however, negate the fact that the Hogwarts Express is the fastest and safest escape.”

“There has to be another way. Something more practical than having all of the students line up and go through a baggage check as if this is some Muggle airport.” A glimmer of amusement flashed through her expression before it was replaced by a heavy solemnity. “The philosopher’s stone is pure, concentrated  _ magic _ . There must be some method of detection that is less overt. “

Albus paused.  _ A method of detection _ …

“I believe I know just the thing,” he said, smiling genially.

 

 

* * *

 

Harry flew down the platform, the steam from the train parting before him. A blur of sounds rose and fell around him, an amalgamation of murmured farewells, cheerful bickering, and disjointed conversations. His gaze leaped from familiar faces to unfamiliar ones, from the red and black of the engine to the countless trunks being hauled up the train. 

No one cast him a second look, each being caught up in their own thoughts or sentiments as they prepared to leave for the summer. He was just another face in the crowd. It was enlivening. He felt  _ free _ . He felt-

Something rammed into his shoulders. 

A jolt ran through him and he winced as his arm prickled with a sharp, paroxysmal chill. His trunk slipped from his loosened grasp and fell to the ground with a  _ thunk _ . His feet caught on his robes and-

A hand was on his arm, steadying him.

Harry blinked. 

The bulky man that had helped him was already bending down to fetch his trunk. When he rose again, Harry couldn’t help but stare. The man’s face was gnarly and broken, but his eyes— _ eye, rather _ —were sharp and scrutinizing. His real eye, dark and cautious, stared unblinkingly back at Harry. His  _ other _ eye, a light, electrifying blue, spun in his sockets.

“Alright there, boy?” His voice was rough, but not unkind.

Harry blinked again, before smiling a Cheshire cat smile and holding out his hand. 

“I’m Harry. Harry Potter. You’re not a professor.”

The man studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Harry held the stare, smile not diminishing in the slightest. Finally, the man made a cracked sound that was almost a laugh.

“Alastor Moody,” he said gruffly, and took Harry’s extended hand, grasp barely tightening before lowering.

“ _ The _ Alastor Moody?” Harry echoed, faux incredulity colouring his tone. “What a honour.”

“ _ The  _ Harry Potter?” Moody echoed almost mockingly. “The honour is mine.”

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

Moody watched him warily. The electric blue eye darted down and focused on Harry’s trunk. For a beat he stood stock still, then slowly, he pushed it forward.

“Why are you here?” Harry asked bluntly, taking his proffered trunk from Moody’s scarred hand.

“Headmaster’s orders.”

Ah. So it appeared that Dumbledore still had one last trick up his sleeve. But it was no matter. Harry’s lips pulled up in a smirk. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be retired?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be boarding? Now run along, before the train leaves you behind.”

Harry cursed as he took in the time. Giving the retired Auror a wave, he was off again, tugging his luggage more carefully behind him as he pushed through the crowds.

By the time he had boarded the train, most of the compartments were already filled. He made it to the back just as the floor began to shift beneath his feet. The rumble of the engines grew and the train gave a sharp whistle.

Bracing himself against the sudden lurch, Harry slid open the door to a random compartment and stumbled in. Three girls—two Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff—stared up at him, and he smiled.

“Hey…Lavender, Parvati, and Hannah, is it? do you mind? I’ll be just a minute.”

“Of course, Harry,” Lavender giggled and Parvati looked star-struck. Hannah smiled, nodding.

Harry slipped in and closed the door behind him. The train was gaining speed now, the platform disappearing behind them as it burst into the bright light of day. The steam cleared and Harry could see the stretch of trees and grassland and mottled hills that stretched out into the horizons. 

He reached over the table and pushed open the window. It rattled on its hinges and the wind carded through his hair. 

“What are you doing, Harry?” Lavender asked curiously.

He grinned. “I’m expecting an owl.”

“Here?”

“Of course.”

A moment passed in silence and Harry waited patiently. Soon, there was a fluttering of feathers and an unmemorable barn owl flitted in. It took perch atop the table and Harry untied the small parcel from its leg. Then he held it out the window and it took flight once more with a hoot. 

“ _Hogsmeade Owl Post_ ? Interesting pick-up location,” Hannah said, eyes skimming over the flimsy paper packaging.

The cheerful shine of Harry’s eyes dipped into something much more genuine as the train groaned and picked up speed. They were crossing the bridge overtop the moat now, and soon, they would be past Hogwarts’ extensive wards and protective charms.

Which, by a stroke of luck, just happened to include the entire town of Hogsmeade.

“No other time was convenient,” Harry said by way of explanation. “Well, thank you for lending me the window.”

The girls giggled.

“Would you like a seat?” Hannah offered.

“Not today, thanks.” Harry held up the package pointedly. “I’ve got to take care of this.”

“That’s too bad,” Lavender said with a downcast frown. “Then, have a nice summer, Harry!”

“Oh, I will,” he flashed them a crooked smile. 

The door closed behind him. He pushed off against the wall and strolled further back into the train. He slipped the parcel into his robes and it sat nestled against his chest. The stone pulsated with a faint warmth, briefly chasing away the numb, throbbing pain in his arms. Unfortunately, it did little to assuage the biting coldness. He let out a breath and gingerly rolled up his sleeves. 

The first thing he thought of was that it was getting worse.

A pale, jagged scar ran down the length of his right forearm. He stared down at it, his smile souring and falling away. The scar was barely noticeable, and even under bright lighting at just the right angles, it was still merely a thin stretch that was a shade lighter than the surrounding skin. 

Every other injury he had sustained in the third-floor corridor had long since healed, the process sped up by the gentle prodding of his magic. But this was different. It almost reminded him of his  _ other _ scar, but he hadn’t been cursed this time. The wound had closed easily enough, skin knitting together when he had willed it to, and the pain had receded––though only for the first night. 

All the same, Harry could tell it had never  _ healed _ . Cold jabs came periodically, small hooks snagging at his skin. It was a slight thing, not quite bad enough to hinder, but irritating nonetheless. And, Harry was beginning to suspect that it was growing, spreading like a fracture line on a vase. 

Experimentally, he held up his arm, noting the faint tremor to his fingers. He frowned, hands clenching experimentally. A hiss tore out of him and he let his arm drop limply to his side, eyes hardening.

It had admittedly been the best year of his life. Of course, it was too good to last. He shouldn’t have expected everything to turn out well, and especially not for so long. It was almost fitting, he thought morbidly, that this was how it should end, all things considered.

But this was only a temporary affliction. 

One that he planned on alleviating. 

The summer loomed ahead, and there was both time and a constant supply of elixirs at his disposal if only he can figure out how the philosopher’s stone was used. And he will, regardless of his summer accommodations.

He smiled, slow and steely and staunch. 

No one was there to see it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially the last chapter of the first book! Wow...I can't believe I actually completed something...haha...
> 
> On a side note, I'll be taking some time after this to edit the previous chapters before posting the second book. New chapters will continue to be added to this fic so don't worry about missing updates. 
> 
> Let me know what you think so far! I hope you liked it!
> 
> Xx


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